My cousin Shakespeare – sixty-six degrees of separation!

To thee, my cousin Shakespeare, this poor verse

I dedicate in honour of thy name.

I draw a rather long bow, or much worse,

When distant kinship I with thee proclaim.

Much have I admired thy wondrous power and sway

And worship thee “this side idolatry”

(As once thy rival Jonson dared to say),

For I, in sooth, love thy sweet harmony.

The road that lies betwixt my name and thine

Is long indeed and truly sinuate;

The links, as in a golden chain, are fine,

That golden road a maze to navigate.

But, oh, fair coz, what pleasure ’tis to me,

To find I am related so to thee.

My great grandfather Alexander Edward Butler (b.1828, d.1899) had a brother named Spilsbury (b.1836) and a son named Charles Spilsbury (b.1865, d.1876).  It never occurred to me to question the origin of the unusual name, Spilsbury.

So, it was with some surprise that I received an email in May 2009 from Joanne Sholes (of California USA) entitled “Butler and Spilsbury connections question”.  It opened up a whole world of enquiry and pointed me eventually towards a relationship – albeit a circuitous, “sinuate”, one – with William Shakespeare.

The aim of this article is to indicate as clearly as I can from the documentary evidence available the connection between my Butler family and William Shakespeare, the Stratford man who wrote those wonderful plays.

My information is gleaned from several sources.  I am primarily indebted to Joanne Sholes for setting me on this path and for providing a great deal of information that allows me to trace the Butlers back to Edward Butler who married Deborah Vicares in 1681.  It was their son Joseph who married Mary Spilsbury (1720).  And it is the Spilsbury family that provides the link with Shakespeare through his mother, Mary Arden.  One member of the Arden family, Anne (b.1750), married a Spilsbury – Benjamin (b.1746).  No date is currently available for the marriage.

This primary information has been corroborated and developed from two other sources: Stirnet.com, and the website of John Spilsbury of Wolverhampton UK, rootsweb.ancestry.com.

In my own research I did not trace my Butler ancestry back beyond Edward Butler and his wife, Elizabeth Hammond Bishop.  Thanks to Joanne Sholes I have found some ancestors of Edward Butler (b.1766) and Elizabeth Hammond Bishop (m.28.7.1794).  His father was Edward John Butler (b.1736, Kidderminster, Worcestershire, UK; d.11.7.1779) who married Mary Austin.  Edward John Butler’s father was Joseph Butler (b.4.10.1694) and his mother was Mary Spilsbury (b.23.1.1697).  Both Joseph and Mary were born in Kidderminster, Worcestershire, UK, and they were married in Kidderminster, 23.11.1720.  Joseph Butler’s parents were Edward Butler and Deborah Vicares who married in 1681.  And that is as far back as I can trace the Butlers at present.

 So it is that we turn to the Spilsburys, which family will give us the link to the Ardens, which will, in turn, link us to Shakespeare.

It must be said that tracing families back to the distant past is fraught with dangers and it is easy to assume connections where none exist.  I found, for instance, the following information on RootsChat.com: “I have William of Bewdley being born in 1565 in Rock (IGI references plus another document).  William is the son of John Spilsbury (b. 1525, also Rock).  John is the son of Thomas, b. 1498.  Thomas had one other son, John, b. 1525.  From the original Thomas, there are a whole mess of Spilsburys.  I’ve a copy of the Domesday book … Paraphrased it says: ‘Between the parish of Fladbury is Worcester and Chipping Norton in Oxford lies the village of Eynsham.  The family of Richard de Spellesbury described as a landowner had occupied the land in 1086 … No idea how Richard came to ‘occupy’ that land.”

However, Joanne Sholes advised me: “The quote you included from Rootschat was that of my sister Carol aka Bamboogirl.  I am not convinced of the earlier connects being made for William.  I do feel comfortable with William and family forward.  I am not sure of his birth year … Death, yes.  I think there might be some leaps of faith being made re the earlier ancestors so I decided to work from William forward.  This tree on rootsweb by John Spilsbury takes William back to Richard then to Thomas.”

The following material, then, is derived from John Spilsbury’s site

http://wc.rootsweb.ancestry.com/cgi-bin/igm.cgi?op=GET&db=johnspilsbury58&id=I09494

and also from

http://www.stirnet.com/HTML/genie/british/aa/arden2.htm

Because I have not undertaken any research for this article personally, I am relying on the information of others.  Sometimes the details about a particular ancestor available from the several researchers do not coincide, so I have tried to give both accounts.

According to John Spilsbury’s researches, the earliest authenticated Spilsbury in the family relevant to this story is Thomas (b.1520, Rock, Worcestershire UK; d.1574, Worcestershire UK).  He married Isobel — (b.1520, Worcestershire UK).  They had five children, all born in Rock, Worcestershire UK: Thomas (b.1546), Richard (b.28.4.1550), John (b.4.1.1553), Robert (b.13.3.1553) and Edward (b.21.9.1555).

Richard (b.28.4.1550).  His wife’s name is presently unknown.  There were seven children, all born in Rock, Worcestershire UK: Joyce (b.31.8.1589), Thomas (b.8.12.1590), Margaret (23.9.1592); William (b.1.4.1594), Anne (b.20.4.1596), Richard (b.21.9.1598) and John (b.14.11.1600).

William (b.1.4.1594, d.27.11.1672, buried Ribbesford Church, North Bewdley,[1] Worcestershire UK) married Ann — (b.15.10.1600).  No date is currently available.  There were seven children, all born in Ribbesford: Mary (b.6.6 1623), Sarah (b.5.3.1625), John (b.25.5.1628), Anne (b.28.12.1630), Susanne (29.9.1633), Elizabeth (b.26.2.1636), and James (b.24.11.1639).  Sholes writes: “William Spilsbury of Bewdley (d. 1673) and wife Anne (d. 1664) are buried in the churchyard of St. Leonard’s in the hamlet of Ribbesford.  The church is located in the countryside near the River Severn one mile south of Bewdley.  The baptisms of at least seven of the recorded nine children born to William and Anne can be found in the parish records of St. Leonard’s, and William and Anne are buried there.”

It is the descendants of John and James that concern us here: John’s granddaughter Mary married Joseph Butler (23.11.1720), and James’s great grandson Benjamin married Anne Arden (no date currently available).  John and James are of some further interest because they became prominent as Dissenting Ministers.

John (b.25.5.1628, d. 10.6.1699) married Hanna Hall (b.c.1630) in Bromsgrove, Worcestershire.  They had one child, John (b.1667, Worcester).  Sholes adds some important details: “John is often referenced in association with the Particular Baptist movement.  Records for John note that he obtained his MA from Magdalen in 1652 and afterward held a fellowship there for two years.  He married Hannah Hall 5.6.1661.  Hannah’s brother, John Hall, was an associate of John Spilsbury’s and was referred to as the Bishop of Bristol.  He was vicar of Bromsgrove until being ejected in 1662 because of religious differences.  John was imprisoned in Worcester because of his dissenting views.  The three years he spent incarcerated took a toll on his health.  He continued his ministry privately to believers.  He and Hannah had one child, John, born 1667.  This branch of the Spilsbury family has long been referred to as the ‘Dissenting Ministers’ as several of John’s descendants continued to pursue the ministry.  There appears to be some debate regarding the actual date of his death.  Several early references list his death as 1669, but transcription of a copy of a funeral sermon for John Spilsbury delivered by John Eccles and dated 1699 suggest he lived several years several years past 1667.”

 John (b.1667, d.31.1.1727) married, 26.10.1693, Mary Bridges (b.1672, Worcester). There were eight children, all born in Kidderminster except the last child, Francis, who was born in Bromsgrove: William (b.?), John (b.11.1.1694), Hannah (b.1.5.1696), Mary (b.23.1.1697), Hester (b.2.1.1698), Hall (b.18.11.1701), Elizabeth (b.22.4.1704), and Francis (b.1706).  Sholes adds the following information: “Like his father, John went into the ministry, becoming pastor for a congregation of Dissenters in Kidderminster.  His marriage to Mary Bridges (1672-1759) was recorded 26 Oct 1693.  A portrait of Mary Bridges Spilsbury survives in the Baxter United Reformed Church of Kidderminster, a church built on the site of the original meeting house.  After John’s death, his son-in-law, Matthew Bradshaw continued the ministry.  There is a plaque on the wall of the church noting his service from 1693 till 1727.  It was John and Mary’s daughter Mary who married Joseph Butler.”

Mary Spilsbury (b.23.1.1697) married (23.11.1720) Joseph Butler (b.8.5.1692) in Kidderminster, Worcestershire.  There seems to be some difference of opinion about the number of children.  Joanne Sholes lists five children, all born in Kidderminster: Mary (b.24.2.1728); Deborah, named after her grandmother (b.31.7.1730); Edward who was born 5.3.1734 and died aged 13 months, 4.4.1735; Edward John (b.1736) who married Mary Austin; and John (b.13.3.1738).  John Spilsbury lists seven: Hanna (b.?), Mary (b.24.2.1728), Deborah (b.31.7.1730); Edward (b.5.3.1734), Sarah (b.13.3.1743); Edward John (b.13.3.1737) who married Mary Austin, and Joseph (b.-.5.1746).

As I wrote above, Joseph Butler’s parents were Edward Butler and Deborah Vicares who married in 1681.  The descendants of Edward Butler and Deborah Vicares relevant to this account are Joseph Butler who married Mary Spilsbury (23.11.1720), their son Edward Butler who married Mary Austin (m.1761), their son Edward Butler who married Elizabeth Hammond Bishop (m.28.7.1794), their son Alexander Bishop Butler who married Charlotte Selina Mortimer of the prominent Mortimer gunsmith family in London (m.13.9.1827), their son Alexander Butler who married Eliza Helyar (m.8.4.1852), their son Edward William Butler who married Lilian McLean (m.29.12.1897), and their son Malcolm George Butler who married Honor Whittaker (m.26.9.1936), who are my parents.

So we now turn to the Dissenting Minister James Spilsbury (brother of John Spilsbury), for it is his great grandson Benjamin who married into the Arden line.

James was born 24 November 1639 in Ribbesford and died 5 February 1698 in King’s Norton, Worcestershire (the home of another of my ancestors, William Dedicoat, aka – among other names – William Jones, the convict, and William Day, the father and bushranger).  His main place of residence seems to have been Oxford, but in 1663 he was head teacher at Bewdley Grammar School and in 1878 he was chaplain at St John’s chapel, Deritend, Birmingham.  He was buried in Mosely, 5.2.1698.  Sholes adds some more information: “Fewer references to James appear but records exist for his matriculation at Magdalen College Oxford and identify him as a curate of St John’s Chapel Deritend until his death in 1699.  In research compiled by his descendants, he was referred to as James of Rock but this is not proven.  He is also referenced in a book titled Nonconformity by William Urwick as having been educated at Tewkesbury.”

James married Ann — (b.1650) and there were four children, all born in King’s Norton: James (b.3.2.1682), William (b.3.9.1687), Mary (b.30.5.1690) and Elizabeth (b.17.7.1694).

Their first son James (b.3.2.1682, d.1740) married (1) (10.6.1708) Elizabeth Bridges (b.18.8.1674) by whom he had one son, James (b.14.4.1710, Kidderminster) who, we may assume, died young; and (2) (1.7.1712) Elizabeth Lucas with whom there were six children, all born in Alcester, Warwickshire: Elizabeth (b.10.6.1713), Lucas (b.7.1.1714), James (b.9.3.1715), Thomas (b.13.9.1718), John (b.4.1.1720) and Ann (b.14.9.1723); and then, in 1736, James married (3) Mrs Flowers.

Lucas Spilsbury (b.7.1.1714, d.14.7.1764) married (26.1.1741) Dorothy Ward (b.1720, Willington, Derbyshire).  There were seven children, all born in Willington: Francis Ward (b.6.11.1742), Lucas Ward (b.9.10.1743), John (b.1744), Benjamin (b.1746), Elizabeth (b.1748), Joseph (b.1752) and Dorothy (1754).

It is Benjamin Spilsbury (b.1746, d.-.8.1818) who married into the Arden line in the person of Anne (b.19.5.1750, Yoxall, Staffordshire; d.31.12.1829).  No date is currently available for their marriage.  There were three children, all born in Willington, Derbyshire): Elizabeth Ward (b.21.2.1787), Francis Ward (b.10.5.1788) and Anne Georgiana (b.23.4.1789)From here we work through the ancestry of Anne to discover her kinship with William Shakespeare.  It is a long way back to her g.g.g.g.g.g.g.g grandfather Walter, one of whose grandsons, Robert, was the mother of Mary Arden, Shakespeare’s mother.  A long trail of breadcrumbs or a serious clew will help!

 But first, something about the illustrious Arden family.  Wikipedia writes: 

“The Arden family is, according to an article by James Lees-Milne in the 18th edition of Burke’s Peerage/Burke’s Landed Gentry, volume 1, one of only three families in England that can trace its lineage in the male line back to Anglo-Saxon times (the other two being the Berkeley family and the Swinton family).  The Arden family takes its name from the Forest of Arden in Warwickshire.

“Alwin (Æthelwine), nephew of Leofric, Earl of Mercia, was Sheriff of Warwickshire at the time of the Norman Conquest.  He was succeeded by his son, Thorkell of Arden (variously spelt Thorkill, Turchil etc.), whose own son and principal heir, Siward de Arden, subsequently married Cecilia, granddaughter of Aldgyth, daughter of Ælfgar, Earl of Mercia, and from this union the Ardens descend (Siward was Thorkell’s son by his first wife, whose name is not recorded; his second wife, Leofrun, was another daughter of Ælfgar).  Subsequent generations of the family remained prominent in Warwickshire affairs and on many occasions held the shrievalty.  From the time of Sir Henry de Arden in the 14^th century the Ardens had their primary estate at Park Hall, Castle Bromwich.  Robert Arden was executed in 1452 for supporting the uprising of Richard, Duke of York.  The same fate befell Edward Arden in 1583, who came under suspicion for being head of a family that had remained loyal to the Catholic Church, and was sentenced for allegedly plotting against Elizabeth I.  His father William was second cousin to Mary Arden, mother of William Shakespeare.  Edward’s great-grandson Robert died unmarried and without issue in 1643, bringing the Park Hall male line to an end.  The Arden family survives to this day in many branches descended from younger sons in earlier generations.”[2]

 “The descent from Alwin is as follows:

1. Alwin (d. c.1083)
2. Thorkell of Arden (d. c.1100)
3. Siward de Arden, m. Cecilia
4. Henry de Arden (d. aft. 1166)
5. William de Arden, m. Galiena
6. William de Arden, m. Avice
7. Sir Thomas de Arden, m. Riese
8. Ralph de Arden (d. aft. 1290)
9. Ralph de Arden, m. Isabel de Bromwich
10. Sir Henry de Arden (d. c.1400), m. Ellen
11. Sir Ralph Arden (d. 1420), m. Sybil
12. Robert Arden (executed 12 Aug 1452), m. Elizabeth Clodshall
13. Walter Arden (d. 5 Aug 1502), m. Eleanor Hampden
14. Sir John Arden (d. 1526), m. Alice Bracebridge
15. Thomas Arden (d. 1563), m. Mary Andrewes
16. William Arden (d. 1546), m. Elizabeth Conway
17. Edward Arden (executed 20 Dec 1583), m. Mary Throckmorton
18. Robert Arden (d. 27 Feb 1635), m. Elizabeth Corbet
19. Sir Henry Arden (d. 1616), m. Dorothy Feilding
20. Robert Arden (d. 1643)”

 We begin our story with Walter de Arden, the thirteenth of the Ardens listed above.

Walter de Arden (b.c.1441, Park Hall, Warwickshire, d.5.8.1502, Aston, Birmingham, West Midlands) and Eleanor Hampdon (b.c.1445, Great Hampden, Buckinghamshire) were the parents of Sir John Arden (b.c.1461, Park Hall, Warwickshire, d.27.6.1526), the eldest son, and Martin (b.1467), Thomas (b.1469), William, Joyce, Elizabeth, Margaret, Alice, Robert and Henry.  It was from Thomas (b.1469) that William Shakespeare was descended – but of that in its place.

Sir John Arden (b.c.1461, Park Hall, Warwickshire, d.27.6.1526) who married (13.2.1474) Alice Bracegridle (b.c.1462, Kingsbury, Warwickshire), had seven children: Thomas Arden (b.c.1481) and (as listed on the Stirnet site) six other children: John, Geys, Katherine, another daughter, then Margaret and Agnes.

Thomas Arden of Park Hall (b.c.1481, Saltley, [3] Warwickshire, d.5.2.1563, Saltley) married Mary Andrewe(s) (b.c.1481, Charwelton, Northampton).  Simon Arden (b.c.1500, d.1600[sic!]) was the oldest of their nine children. The other children were: Thomas (b.1504), William (b.c.1509), Edward (b.c.1513), George (b.c.1515), Joyce (b.c.1517), Elizabeth (b.c.1519), Cecily (b.c.1521), and Mary (b.c.1523).  They were all born in Saltley, Warwickshire.

Simon Arden Sheriff of Warwickshire (b.c.1500, Park Hall, Warwickshire, d.1600) married twice: Margaret — and Mrs Christine Bond – the order of the two marriages is not clear.  Ambrose Arden of Longcroft (b.1555) was the oldest son of Simon Arden and Margaret — who had several other sons: John, Ambrose of Barton, and, maybe, Richard, Simon and Walter.

 Ambrose Arden of Longcroft (b.1555, Barton Under Needwood, Staffordshire, d.1624, Barton Under Needwood) married (1588) Mary Wedgewood.  There is one son: Humphrey Ambrose Arden (b.1610, Barton Under Needwood).

Humphrey Ambrose Arden (b.1610, Barton Under Needwood, d.15.7.1656, Longcroft, Yoxall) married twice: (1) Elizabeth Lascelles by whom there were two children – Henry and John; and (2) (1.12.1630 Marchington, Staffordshire) Jane Rowbotham by whom there was one son, Humphrey, and, according to Stirnet, four daughters: Mary, Elizabeth, Anne and Grace.

Humphrey Arden of Longcroft (b.2.11.1634 Barton Under Needwood, Staffordshire, d.1706 Longcroft, Yoxall [a/c to John Spilsbury] OR b.c.1631, d.31.1.1705 [a/c to Stirnet]) married [a/c to Stirnet] — Lassal of London OR [a/c to John Spilsbury, Elizabeth Lascelles].  No date is given for the marriage.  Their offspring included Henry Arden (b.7.11.1665), Catherine and Elizabeth.Henry Arden (b.7.11.1665 Longcroft, Yoxall, d.10.8.1728) married (14.1.1692 Alrewas, Staffordshire) Anne Allcock (d.6.1.1698).  John Arden (b.1.1.1693) was the oldest son and there was a daughter, Elizabeth (buried 12.6.1696, probably only 2 or 3 years of age).

John Arden (b.1.1.1693 Longcroft, Yoxall, Staffordshire), Sheriff of Staffordshire, married (1) (date currently unknown) Anna Catherena Newton (d.17.3.1727).  Henry Arden was the oldest child and there were two other children: Catherine and Anna.  John Arden later married (2) Anne Spateman.

Henry Arden (b.18.4.1723 Yoxall, Staffordshire, d.22.6.1782 Longcroft, Yoxall) married (Lichfield 18.5.1749) Alathea Cotton (Alithaea Cooper, b.31.10.1723, d.1.7.1783, a/c to John Spilsbury [Rootsweb]).  According to Stirnet their issue included John (b.-.3.1752, d.10.2.1803), Humphrey (b.6.12.1758), Anne Arden (b.19.5.1750, Yoxall, Staffordshire; d.31.12.1829 Willington, Derbeyshire) who married Benjamin Spilsbury; Henry (b.1754), Robert (1757-1759), Samuel (b.23.11.1760) and Alathea Catharina. [4]

To complete the connection with William Shakespeare, we have to return to an earlier member of the family.

It is from Sir John Arden (b.c.1461)’s brother Thomas Arden (b.1469) that William Shakespeare was descended.  From above, we remember that Sir John Arden (b.c.1461,) was the oldest son of Walter de Arden and Eleanor Hampdon and that there other children, including Thomas (b.1469).

Thomas Arden (b.1469, Wilmcote, Aston Cantlow, Warwickshire) – wife’s name unknown – had two children: Robert Arden (b.1506, Wilmcote, Aston Cantlow, Warwickshire; later of Snitterfield; d. 16.12.1556), and Grace (b.1515 [1512 a/c to Stirnet], Stratford on Avon, Warwickshire, d.3.12.1539).

Robert Arden (b.1506, Wilmcote, Aston Cantlow, Warwickshire; later of Snitterfield; d. 16.12.1556) married (1) Agnes Webb (b.1536 [?] Stratford on Avon, Warwickshire) and (2) Mary Webb (b.5.2.1511, Stratford on Avon).  There were eight children: Joyce (b.c.1534, Stratford on Avon), Agnes (b.c.1536, Stratford on Avon), Mary (b.c.1537, Wilmcote, Aston Cantlow, Warwickshire), Margaret (b.c.1538, Wilmcote, Aston Cantlow), Thomas (b.c.1540, Stratford on Avon), Joan (b.c.1542, Stratford on Avon), Alice (b.c.1544, Stratford on Avon) and Katherine (b.c.1545, Stratford on Avon).

Mary Arden (b.c.1537, Wilmcote, Aston Cantlow, d.9.9.1608, Stratford on Avon) married (June 1557) John Shakespeare (b.c.1537, Wilmcote, Stratford on Avon, Warwickshire).  And of her was born William who was called The Bard.

There were eight children born to Mary Arden and John Shakespeare: Joan (bpt.15.9.1558, d. soon afterwards), Margaret (bpt.2.12.1562, died one year later), William (b.23.4.1564, d.23.4.1616)[5], Gilbert (bpt.13.10.1566, d.3.2.1612, unmarried), Joan 1569-1646, m. William Hart; their descendants lived in Stratford until 1806.[6]), Anne (b.1571, d.1579), Richard (bpt.11.3.1574, d.4.2.1613, unmarried), Edmund (bpt.3.5.1580, d.1607, unmarried).

While it can never be proved conclusively, it is a strong possibility that William Shakespeare grew up in a strongly Catholic family.  His mother’s family was undoubtedly committed to the old faith and there is some evidence that John Shakespeare was also committed to the same faith.  As for Shakespeare’s strong personal commitment to that same faith, it is unlikely, though in my view his works are pervaded by a deep understanding of the Christian faith of one variety or another.

So while this branch of the Butler family cannot claim any direct connection with the Ardens, let alone William Shakespeare, there is a happy if somewhat circuitous connection which has some delight if not much import.

[2] Wikipedia

[3] Park Hall was situated in Bromwich, north-west of Birmingham.

[4] According to the list generated by Stirnet.

[5] No, there are no direct descendants of William Shakespeare living today.  Shakespeare and his wife Anne Hathaway had three children: Susanna, who was born in 1583 and twins Judith and Hamnet, who were born in 1585. The boy Hamnet died in 1596 aged 11 years.  Susanna married John Hall in 1607 and had one child, Elizabeth, in 1608.  Elizabeth married twice (in 1626 to Thomas Nash and in 1649 to John Bernard), but she never had any children.  Judith married Thomas Quiney in 1616 and had three sons, one of whom died in infancy. The other two sons both died unmarried in 1639.

[6] I believe there are numerous Hart descendants alive today.

Grace Peter is the daughter of Finlay Duff Peter and Elizabeth Paterson Bruce.  She married Henry James Stephen in 1858.  Their daughter Elizabeth Stephens [sic] married John Whittaker and one of their sons, John James Whittaker, was my mother’s father.  There is some confusion over the names Peter and Stephen because at some time in the Nineteenth Century the names became Peters and Stephens.

The following article is based on material provided by Meg Laws for my nephew Wayne Davey as part of his ongoing research into the family history.  Meg Laws explains her connection to the Peter family thus: “My husband Charles Reuben Laws is the great-grandson of Elizabeth Bruce Peter, daughter of Finlay Duff Peter and Elizabeth Paterson Bruce. She married William Swift in 1865 and they had five children.”

Finlay Duff Peter, son of David Peter and Jean Miller, married Elizabeth Paterson Bruce, daughter of William Bruce, 13 March 1831.  Their marriage was recorded in the Old Parochial Register of Banns and Marriages for the Parish of Stirling, Scotland.  Finlay’s occupation was given as weaver.

They had seven children: David, Jane, Grace, Marion, William Alexander Bruce, Elizabeth Bruce and Margaret.  At some time during the late 1830s they migrated to Australia.  After the birth of their eight children they separated or divorced.

On 16 August 1873 Finlay remarried as a “widower” in Young NSW, according to the rites of the Church of England.  He married a widow named Barbara Bartier who already had a number of children.  His occupation was given as veterinary surgeon.  He died in Young 21 April 1884, his occupation given as veterinary surgeon.  None of his children was mentioned on his death certificate.  No issue was noted for either marriage, though Barbara Bartier (the second wife) was recorded as his wife.

Finlay was certainly no widower when he married Barbara Bartier because his first wife Elizabeth Paterson [Bruce] Peter remarried some years after Finlay.  She married James Patterson, a publican, at Wilcannia, 28 October 1881 according to the rites of the Church of England.  She died at Wilcannia 27 January 1891 aged 85 years.  Her tombstone, however, gives her age as 81 years.  Her death certificate states that she had lived in Australia for 52 years, which would mean they came out from Scotland about 1839.  There was no issue from her second marriage.

Only the living children were mentioned on her death certificate: David, Jane, Grace, William Alexander, and Elizabeth (Margaret had died 22 June 1872 in the District of Sandhurst, Victoria.  Marion had died soon after her birth in 1840.)

Currently the only information I have about the eight children is as follows (thanks to Meg Laws).

David Peter was born about 1834 and married Elizabeth Duggan at Burrangong in NSW 3 November 1861 according to the rites of the Roman Catholic Church.  They divorced about May 1892.  No death date is known.

Jane Peter was born about 1837.  She may have married a William Beaumont at Wagga Wagga in 1852.

According to her marriage certificate, Grace Peter was born in Sydney.  She was 19 when she married in October 1858 which indicates she was born in 1839.  She married Henry James Stephen(s) 8 October 1858.  The “Elizabeth”, witness at her wedding, was probably her mother, because of her age and as her sister Elizabeth would have been too young to be a witness in 1858.  [Referring to Grace Peter and Henry Stephen's daughter Elizabeth, my own history says: "Elizabeth Stephens was born at Back Creek (Bendigo) Amherst, Victoria, 13 September 1859.  Her father's name is given as Henry James Stephens, his occupation miner, his age 22, his birthplace London.  Her mother's name is given as Grace Peter; she was 19, and was born in Sydney, N.S.W.  Their marriage took place in the Presbyterian Manse, Sandhurst (Bendigo) 8 October 1858.  Henery (as he signs himself) James Stephen (there is no "s") was 21 years of age, which makes his birth year 1837; he was born in Stepney, London, and his parents were Henry James Stephen, a sailor, and Euphemia Miller.  He was a sawyer.  His wife, Grace Peter, a spinster, was born in Sydney in 1839.  Her parents were Finlay Peter, a blacksmith, and Elizabeth Bruce."] 

Marion Peter was born 1840 and died the same year.

William Alexander Bruce Peter was born 2 May 1845.  His family always claimed that he was born on board ship three days out from Sydney.  It is also claimed that the birth was registered at Strawberry Hills Post Office (Surry Hills), Sydney NSW Births Deaths & Marriages do not have a record of the birth.  William married Alice Brown at Wilcannia on 5 September 1878.  He died at Wilcannia 20 September 1909.  His father’s occupation is recorded as hotel keeper on both his marriage certificate and his death certificate.

Elizabeth Bruce Peter was born 1846, her mother giving consent to the marriage as Elizabeth as she was 19 years old.  However, on her mother’s death certificate it is claimed that Elizabeth is 41 years of age in 1891.  Elizabeth Bruce Peter married William Swift, a cook, at Bourke, 11 December 1865 (aged 19).  He was licensee of “The Finger Post” hotel at Walgett from 1870 to sometime in 1873.  Elizabeth later married Francis Burns, a bachelor, 24 August 1878 according to the rites of the Church of England.  She had several more children to Francis Burns.  Elizabeth Bruce [Swift] Burns died in Dubbo 27 September 1923, aged 72 [sic] which puts her birth about 1851.

Margaret Peter was born about 1848 in Sydney NSW.  She married Henry Tupper in Bourke 15 April 1867 and died aged 24 years in Victoria, 22 June 1872.  The informant was Margaret’s father-in-law (a miner, like her husband) who stated that Margaret’s father was William Peter, chemist, and that her mother was Jane Peter, formerly Bruce.  This information is incorrect as we know that she was is in fact the daughter of Finlay Peter, a veterinary surgeon, and Elizabeth Bruce, as her marriage certificate states.

December 2008

When I first wrote the family history in 1986 I said that “Of all the grandparents’ branches of the family I know least about the Whittaker ancestry.”  That remained the case until 2008 when the family detective, my nephew Wayne Davey, discovered our Whittaker origins.  Not only our Whittaker origins, but also some details pertaining to the family of Elizabeth Stephens who was to marry John Whittaker: these are the parents of my grandfather John James Whittaker.  This article presents the results of that research and should be regarded as an addendum to Chapter Eight of our family history.

In the original Chapter Eight I wrote: “John James Whittaker’s father John was born, according to his baptismal certificate, in Gosford N.S.W., 4 October 1848.  His baptism was registered in the parish of St. Andrew’s in the county of Cumberland – St. Andrew’s Church of England Cathedral in Sydney.  His father’s name was given as Peter Whittaker and his mother’s name as Margaret – maiden name not recorded. … We move from John’s birth to his marriage knowing nothing at this stage of his family, whether he had brothers or sisters or not.  In 1878 John Whittaker married Elizabeth Stephens: they were wedded in St. John’s Anglican Church, Young, 14 March, in the presence of F.D. Peter and Barbara Peter.  She signed with her mark.  His normal place of residence was given as Back Creek, Cowra, and his occupation as sawyer.  She was described as spinster, living at Cowra.”

Thanks to Detective Davey’s researches we are able to answer the question not only of John Whittaker’s parentage but also of his siblings.  But first of all, we need to go back to Peter Whittaker’s origins – his parents and where they came from – and thus get the Whittakers into Australia.  At this stage we can go no further back than Peter’s mother and father, David Whittaker and Jane Mary Walsh (or Welsh, but we will stay with Walsh).

In earlier days it would have been an embarrassment to relate that both David and Jane Mary were convicts, but that is all water under the bridge now, and if you haven’t got a convict in the family you should dig till you find one – or adopt one!

David was born in 1775 and was a resident of Halifax, West Riding, Yorkshire.  On 18 July 1801 he was charged thus: “David Whitaker [sic] aged 26 years of Halifax in the West Riding, shopkeeper, committed the 25th day of April 1801, charged upon the oath of John Bairstow of Thornton in the said riding, corn dealer, on suspicion of feloniously forging and altering a certain bill from fifteen pounds to fifty pounds which said bill was drawn by William Fox for Messrs Samuel Jones, William Jones, William Fox and Co., for fifteen pounds payable at two months to John Deardon on order and drawn upon Messrs Jones, Loyd, Hulme and Co Bankers, London.”

Transported for life to NSW, he left London, England, Thursday 23 September 1802 and arrived at Sydney Cove, NSW 11 March 1803, per “Glatton” under Captain James Colnett RN.

According to the Colonial Secretary Index, 1788-1825 (State records of NSW) he was listed to receive a land grant 10 September 1818.  He was “On list of persons for whom grants of land have been handed over to the Surveyor General for delivery with amount of fees to be charged” (5 March 1821), and “On return of allotments in the town of Parramatta” 5 April 1823.

He married Jane Mary Walsh (Welsh) 13 November 1820 in Parramatta.  She was born in Ireland in 1794 or 1795.  She was a mantua maker by trade (ie, she made female garments – mantles, bodices or dresses) but must have fallen foul of the law for she was tried for a crime currently unknown, in Dublin, August 1815, and sentenced to transportation to New South Wales for seven years.  She sailed on the “Canada”, in the company of 88 other females, leaving 21 March 1817 from Cork, Ireland, arriving in Sydney, via Rio, 6 Aug 1817.  She obtained her certificate of freedom 29 January 1823.

She and David Whittaker had nine children (as far as I can work out).  She died 17 April 1866 in Maitland, New South Wales.  David had died 1 January 1850.

Their children were Peter, Susan, Charles, John, Elizabeth, Mary, Harriet and Phoebe – not necessarily in that order.  Peter was born in 1817, and married Margaret Wall, 16 April 1847.  He died in 1897.  Margaret wall was born in 1820 in Maryborough, County Cork, Ireland.  Charles was born 12 April 1819, and Hannah was born in Parramatta 26 December 1821.  Hannah married 16 April 1839, and died 19 June 1902 in Gosford NSW.

Peter Whittaker and Margaret Wall had eight children (again, as far as I can work out): Peter, b.1840, d.27.6.1880, m. Helen Beech 8.12.1859; Charles b.1842, d.1923, m. Margaret Jacob 1850; John (who is our concern in this chapter) b. 1848, d.1910, m. Elizabeth Stephens 14.3.1878; Phoebe, b.1857, d.1944, m. James Bell; Elizabeth b.1860; William b.1860, d.1919, m. Mary Louisa Gubbin 1879; Mary b.1863; and possibly Margaret.

Peter Whittaker and Helen Beech had eight children (as far as I can tell): Charles, Alfred, Maria (?), John James, Peter, Phoebe, David (?) and Octavis.

Charles Whittaker and Margaret Jacob also had eight children: Charles, William Henry, Robert John, Margaret, Herbert Ernest, Arthur Peter, Mary and Emma.  William Henry married Elsie Tooker and it was one of their descendants, an AFP sergeant named Whittaker, who piqued my nephew’s interest in the family history.  It was from this encounter that the research, the results of which are produced here, followed.

John Whittaker and Elizabeth Stephens also had eight children: John James (my mother’s father), Albert, William, Phoebe, Frederick Herbert, Ellen Margaret, Grace Bertha Anthea (Doll) and Ernest George – all of whom are dealt with in this chapter.

Phoebe Whittaker and James Bell had only one child, Lilly, who married John Fing.

William Whittaker and Mary Louisa Gubbin followed the family custom and had eight children: Rene, Edna, Ruby, Roy, Cecil, Dollie, Raymond William and Una.

Alexander Edward Butler and Edward Malcolm Butler

In my original account of the Edward William Alfred Butler’s family I had little to say about his children for the simple reason that I knew little.  During 2008 my nephew Wayne Davey did some research among the papers from the Australian War Museum and found details of the War Service of two Butler boys, the oldest, Alexander Edward, son of EW Butler and Jessie Hilda Burke, and EW Butler’s second son Edward Malcolm, the first child of his marriage with Lilian Blanche McLean.

In 1886 Edward William Butler married Jessie Hilda Burke in Melbourne.  There was one son, Alexander Edward, named after his grandfather Alexander Edward Butler, and he died a bachelor 29th January 1964.  He was a Gallipoli veteran.  At this time I know nothing else about him.

[From the Australian War Museum]

Alexander Edward Butler Service No: 160.  13th Battalion AIF (New South Wales) [4th Infantry Brigade] 

The 13th Battalion AIF was raised from late September 1914, six weeks after the outbreak of the First World War. The battalion was recruited in New South Wales, and with the 14th, 15th and 16th Battalions formed the 4th Brigade, commanded by Colonel John Monash.  The Brigade embarked for overseas in late December. After a brief stop in Albany, Western Australia, it proceeded to Egypt, arriving in early February 1915. Australia already had an AIF division there, the 1st. When the 4th Brigade arrived in Egypt it became part of the New Zealand and Australian Division.

The 4th Brigade landed at ANZAC Cove late in the afternoon of 25 April 1915. On the 2nd May 1915 Alexander Edward Butler was wounded and was evacuated to Egypt with lacerated fingers but returned to Gallipoli several weeks later.

From May to August, the battalion was heavily involved in establishing and defending the ANZAC front line. In August, the 4th Brigade attacked Hill 971. The hill was taken at great cost, although Turkish reinforcements forced the Australians to withdraw. The 13th also suffered casualties during the attack on Hill 60 on 27 August. The battalion served at ANZAC until the evacuation in December 1915.

After the withdrawal from Gallipoli, the battalion returned to Egypt and on 15th Feb 1916 Alexander was promoted to lance corporal. While in Egypt the AIF was expanded and was reorganised. The 13th Battalion was split and provided experienced soldiers for the 45th Battalion. The 4th Brigade was combined with the 12th and 13th Brigades to form the 4th Australian Division.

Battle Honours: Landing at Anzac, Anzac, Defence of Anzac, Suvla, Sari Bair, Gallipoli 1915.

The 45th Battalion AIF (New South Wales) [12th Infantry Brigade] was formed Egypt 4 March 1916 from 2 companies of the 13th Battalion AIF.  The 45th Battalion was raised in Egypt on 2 March 1916 as part of the “doubling” of the AIF. Approximately half of its new recruits were Gallipoli veterans from the 13th Battalion, and the other half, fresh reinforcements from Australia. On 3rd March Alexander was transferred to the 45th battalion. Reflecting the composition of the 13th, the new battalion was composed mostly of men from New South Wales. On 25th March 1916 Alexander was promoted to full corporal.

As part of the 12th Brigade of the 4th Australian Division, the 45th Battalion arrived in France on 8 June 1916, destined for the Western Front. On 22nd July 1916 Alexander was hospitalized in France and transferred to England 9th August 1916 with bronchitis. The 45th Battalion fought in its first major battle at Pozières in August, defending ground previously captured by the 2nd Australian Division. Alexander contracted mumps 21st December 1916. After Pozières the battalion spent the period until March 1917 alternating between duty in the trenches and training and rest behind the lines, first around Ypres in Belgium, and then in the Somme Valley in France.

The 45th Battalion was in reserve for the 4th Division’s first major action of 1917 – the first battle of Bullecourt – and was not committed to the attack. It was, however, heavily engaged during the battle of Messines in June, and suffered commensurate casualties. Alexander was discharged from the AIF on 13th July 1917.

Although by now Alexander was back in Australia it is interesting to note what the 45th battalion went on to do

Like most AIF battalions, the 45th rotated in and out of the front line throughout the winter of 1917-18. In the spring of 1918 it played a crucial role in turning the last great German offensive of the war when it defeated attacks aimed at breaking through the British front around Dernancourt. The Allies launched their own offensive on 8 August with the battle of Amiens. On the first day of this battle the 45th Battalion captured 400 German prisoners, 30 artillery pieces and 18 machine guns. 8 August became known as the “black day of the German Army” and initiated a retreat back to the formidable defensive barrier known as the Hindenburg Line. The 45th Battalion fought its last major action of the war on 18 September 1918 around Le Verguier to seize the “outpost line” that guarded the approaches to the main defences. The battalion was out of the line when the war ended on 11 November, and was disbanded on 2 May 1919.

Battle Honours: Egypt 1916, Somme 1916-18, Pozieres, Bullecourt, Messines 1917, Ypres 1917, Menin Road, Polygon Wood, Passchendaele, Arras 1918, Ancre 1918, Amiens, Albert 1918, St Quentin Canal, Hindenburg Line, Epehy, France and Flanders 1916-18.

In 1893 Alexander Edward Butler senior moved to Sydney with his sons Edward, Hubert and Percy.  In 1897 Edward William set up as a house agent at 99 William Street and in that same year remarried, 29th December 1897; he was 33 and his new wife, Lilian Blanche McLean was 23.

Their first child, Edward Malcolm, was born 18th October 1898 while the family was living at 99 William Street.  He was, in the general opinion (as expressed by his sister Julia), “the finest of the Butler boys”, an upstanding, fine build of a man, from his photographs.  There are a number of photos of Ted and the other Butler boys at their father’s funeral in 1928.  Ted is the most impressive looking one of them all.

Ted went to the First World War at the age of eighteen, much to his father’s regret, and was “never the same again”.  In my original account of the family, I wrote: “I don’t know what that meant, but talk of Ted was always tinged with regret and the note that his potential was never achieved.  According to the back of a postcard, ’3771, Pte. Edward M. Butler, C Company, 9th Rem., 19th Batt., A.I.E.F., 5th Inf.  Brigade’, sailed off to ‘Egypt or elsewher’ 20 January 1916 on the Runic; ‘left wharf 8 a.m. left harbour 4 p.m.’  There are no photos of him in uniform, no memoirs of his service.”  Thanks to Wayne’s research, we can now read of his military service.  At the time of his father’s funeral (8 August 1928), when his address was given as Y.M.C.A., Melbourne.  He died a bachelor, 31 October 1938.

[From the Australian War Museum]

Edward Malcolm Butler Service No:377

Hazel eyes, fair hair, 5’8 tall.

First posted as the 9th reinforcements to the 19th Battalion but shortly after arriving in Egypt he was transferred to the 55th Battalion on the 3rd April 1916.

The 55th Battalion AIF (New South Wales) [14th Infantry Brigade] was formed Egypt 14 February 1916 from the 3rd Battalion AIF.

The 55th Battalion was raised in Egypt on 12 February 1916 as part of the “doubling” of the AIF. Half of its recruits were Gallipoli veterans from the 3rd Battalion, and the other half, fresh reinforcements from Australia. Reflecting the composition of the 3rd, the 55th was predominantly composed of men from New South Wales. The battalion became part of the 14th Brigade of the 5th Australian Division.

Arriving in France on 30 June 1916, the battalion entered the frontline trenches for the first time on 12 July and fought its first major battle at Fromelles a week later. The battle was a disaster, resulting in heavy casualties across the division. Although in reserve, the 55th was quickly committed to the attack and eventually played a critical role, forming the rearguard for the 14th Brigade’s withdrawal. Despite its grievous losses the 5th Division continued to man the front in the Fromelles sector for a further two months.

After a freezing winter manning trenches in the Somme Valley, in early 1917 the 55th Battalion participated in the advance that followed the German retreat to the Hindenburg Line. It was spared the assault but did, however, defend gains made during the second battle of Bullecourt. On 2nd April 1917 Edward was wounded in action in France, a gunshot wound (GSW) to the left hand. It is not recorded the extent of the injury but it must have been fairly serious as the following day, 5th April he was transferred to England to a military hospital.  [His father, at 99 William Streete Sydney, received a letter from The Australian Imperial Force dated 26 April 1917 which informed him: "that information has been received to the effect that Private EM Butler was admitted to the Royal Surrey County Hospital Engalnd 5.4.17 suffering from a gunshot wound.  His postal address will be ... Any further reports received will be promptly transmitted."]

On 7th July he was charged with absent without leave (AWL) from a tattoo (military) and fined 1 day’s pay. On 21st July 1917 he was transferred to Australia and was eventually discharged from the AIF on 7th Feb 1918 as medically unfit from Holsworthy Army Base NSW. Edward later received the British War Medal, number 32702 and the Victory Medal number 32295. He applied for and was granted a war pension of 1 pound 10 shillings a fortnight from 8th Feb 1918.

[What follows is an account of the battalion's service for the remainder of the war.]  Later in the year, the AIF’s focus of operations switched to the Ypres sector in Belgium. The 55th’s major battle here was at Polygon Wood on 26 September.

With the collapse of Russia in October 1917, a major German offensive on the Western Front was expected in early 1918. This came in late March and the 5th Division moved to defend the sector around Corbie. The 14th Brigade took up positions to the north of Villers-Bretonneux and held these even when the village fell, threatening their flanks.

Once the German offensive had been defeated, the Allies launched their own offensive in August 1918. The 14th Brigade did not play a major role in these operations until late in the month, but its actions were critical to the capture of Péronne, which fell on 2 September. The 54th fought its last major battle of the war, St Quentin Canal, between 29 September and 2 October 1918. For his valour during this action Private John Ryan was awarded the Victoria Cross.

The battalion was resting out of the line when the Armistice was declared on 11 November. The progressive return of troops to Australia for discharge resulted in the 55th merging with the 53rd Battalion on 10 March 1919. The combined 53/55th Battalion, in turn, disbanded on 11 April

Battle Honours: Egypt 1916, Somme 1916-18, Bullecourt, Ypres 1917, Menin Road, Polygon Wood, Passchendaele, Ancre 1918, Villers-Bretonneux, Amiens, Albert 1918, Mont St Quentin, Hindenburg Line, St Quentin Canal, France and Flanders 1916-18.

I never knew my uncles, even though Alex was still living until I was 24.  One can only regret not knowing either these men or their stories.  I am grateful that my nephew has taken the time to find out more about them.

December 2008

MALCOLM GEORGE BUTLER and HONOR DELORES WHITTAKER

PAUL, ANTHONY, ADELE

Emoh Ruo

And so we come to the objects of our quest, the subjects of our enterprise, the descendants of all those who have gone before, Malcolm George Butler and Honor Delores Whittaker and their children, Paul, Anthony and Adele.  If the title “Emoh Ruo” could be printed upside down and back to front, it may have given a better indication of the author’s intentions in naming the chapter.  Though it must be said, in this time of revision, that in spite of the experiences that prompted that title, we were not as badly off as many families then and now, particularly in the light of revelations that increasingly come to light in the media.  For all the behaviour that hurt, we were far better parented than many children that I have encounterd in forty years of teaching.

Honor’s happy childhood amongst the pumpkin patch and smiling young men of the boarding house, the children she delighted to nurse, and the rocksalt and molasses parties, comes to an end in 1926.  It is marked with a gift of a book from her dearly-loved parish priest, Father O’Brien: Varieties of Irish History from Ancient and Modern Sources and Original Documents by James J. Gaskin, Dublin 1869.  It is inscribed “To Honor Whittaker with best wishes for the future.  James O’Brien, Condobolin.  30th January 1926″.  (It is also inscribed “Michael Casey 1872″.)

Gladys, Honor and her brother Douglas moved into 28 Gosbell Street, Paddington.  Doug went to school at the Christian Brothers’ School at Darlinghurst, and Honor went to Business College.  It could only have been for a short time, for on 22 September 1926 she receives a letter from the firm that was to become a household name for future years: “Dear Miss Whittaker, We have decided to engage you and would like you to call along tomorrow the 23rd instant prepared to start work. Faithfully yours, Bray and Holliday Ltd.  I. Coburn, Chief Clerk”.  The letter was typed by Ann McNulty whose family were friends of our family in the Condobolin days and for many years in Sydney.

Miss Coburn’s influence on her “girls” was very strong and long-lasting and helped shape Honor into the excellent telephonist and receptionist she was to become.  Not that life was all hard work and no play during those early years in Sydney: Honor was a vivacious, life-loving young miss.  There were picnics, parties and outings to the theatre, to Neilson Park, to Wallacia.  The “Mucky Kids” in the photograph taken at Wallacia, Easter 1928, are your bright young things of today.  The attractive Muriel Mann and Honor were great friends and smiling girls, and soon drew the boys.  Max Butler and Sam Sudlow were on the horizon.  Sam writes: “Muriel Mann was going to a dance at Kogarah and invited Honor, so I found out from Max Butler and attended the dance and started to keep company . . . Our company lasted twelve months and the question of religion in my home arose and I made the break”.  Honor was a visitor to Sam’s home at Belmore in 1927 and 1928, and Mrs. Sudlow liked her, but religion was in the way and that was that.  Sam and his wife, Edna, were to become firm friends of our family in later years, and when Honor died in 1983, Sam told me: “There is a part of my heart that is still in love with your mother”.

Sam had been serious about marriage.  I was long under the impression that it was his mother who discouraged the match.  Sam told me that on one occasion when he was walking down Boundary Street from Oxford Street on his way to work at Bray and Holliday and he passed opposite the paint and spray garage where Jack Whittaker, Honor’s father, was working.  Jack called Sam across and spoke to him, saying in effect: “I’m not a Catholic, yet my marriage to Mrs. Whittaker has been a happy one. Religion has never come between us.  If you want to marry Honor, don’t let religion stand in your way.”

But it was not to be.  Nevertheless, Sam remained devoted to Honor.  In fact he made for Honor’s twenty first birthday a glory-box, handcrafted, polished and quilted, with a glass lid.  Sam’s little secret was that he had placed in a hidden compartment his first week’s wages for the woman he loved.  We still treasure that glory-box.

One delightful episode from their period of courtship occurred at the Kings Cross Cinema, a very respectable, not to say plush, place in those days, with its own orchestra.  (It stood somewhere near the present Darlinghurst Road entrance to the Kings Cross Underground Station.)  It was company policy with Bray and Holliday that office girls were not permitted to go out with the male staff and this was firmly policed by Miss Coburn.  Sam and Honor had gone to the cinema at Kings Cross for the evening, only to find behind them, at the interval, the redoubtable Miss Coburn.  The reader will be relieved to know that nothing was ever said; and that the two lovers eventually went their separate ways had nothing to do with her.  Sam’s devotion to Honor and her family is displayed in his oft-repeated statement: “I had three mothers – my own, Mrs. Whittaker and Edna’s”.  There could hardly be a lovelier tribute, except for him to say to me in 1985 “I am still using one of the two hairbrushes your mother gave me when I was twenty one”.

Soon after the break with Sam Sudlow, Honor met George Hansen, an officer in the U.S. Navy.  The relationship went on for a couple of years.  There are some photographs of George, one of which shows an incomplete Harbour Bridge in the background, which, observing the progress on the Bridge, would put the picture at about March 1930.  Within the year, Honor and George are engaged: her parents of 28 Gosbell Street, Paddington, “announce the engagement of their daughter Honor Dolores [sic] to Mr. George A. Hanson of Berkley, California, U.S.A.” The Gosbell Street address is pre-1933.  But, according to Sam, George ran into the same problem with his parents over religion and broke the engagement.  Another version of the story is that Mac Butler, left by trusting George to take care of Honor, took more care than friendship would have considered necessary and eventually married the woman.  Honor’s recollection years later suggested more than a touch of untoward pressure on Mac’s part.

Whatever the facts – and Honor’s story was an oft-told one, never intended for the public arena – Mac and Honor were married 26 September 1936 at Saint Canice’s Church, Elizabeth Bay, by Father J.F. Donovan.  Mac had become a Catholic in order to marry Honor, but he never practised the religion – the conversion had been a token gesture.  Roy Chater and Dorothy Jones were witnesses.  In later years Dorothy was to marry Doug Whittaker and  become our aunt; Roy was to marry Rene, and their daughter, Robyn, married Paul and  became our sister-in-law.

There is a very revealing photograph of the Bray and Holliday staff taken outside the building, probably after Mac and Honor were married.  The way Mac is staring at Honor in the photo is obvious for all to see and so obvious as to demand comment from anyone looking at the photo.  Honor sits in a typical pose, mouth a little tight, as is one fist, and one arm holding the other.  It is an interesting study in relationships.

[In October 2011 I received the following emails from Richard Selleck:  20 October 2011 - “I have just read on the web with great
interest and profit the introduction to your family history. I started reading it because I am trying to write a family history of my own, then I got interested in it because I found it moving. I got even more interested when I noticed the appearance of the businessman, Patrick Bray, who is a great-uncle of mine, on my grandmother's side. She was born Catherine Bray and your Patrick was her brother - half brother actually, as Catherine's mother died when she was a quite young, her father(John Michael Bray) married again and Patrick was one of the product of that marriage. Pat Bray and his wife, Ida, moved from Melbourne to Sydney abut 1915, eventually started the business with Holliday and remained in Sydney until his death. I was interested in the comments you
made about his business, and would be most interested to hear any comments that your mother made about him.”

Mum often referred to a Father Selleck CSsR with great affections and respect, so I asked Richard whether he was related. In response to my question, Richard replied: “Father Richard Selleck was my uncle, and one of whom I was very fond. I was named
after him."

In hindsight I believe Father Selleck was Mum's spiritual director.  She held him in high regard and it may be that he helped her through the difficulties of the marriage, giving her the advice that strengthened her to stay with it.  We will never know, but it make a lot of sense that Mum listened to, valued adn acted on his advice.

Father Selleck preached a retreat for us as Juniors at Bowral in 1954 if my memory serves correctly.

23 October 2011 Richard wrote again: “I have been re-reading the introduction to your family history this morning. It is still more moving on the second time through, partly because of the carefully understated way in which you tackle the difficulties of writing honestly about yourself and your family while also preserving family dignity. It is very hard to do both, especially, in my case at any rate, when I am sometimes writing about people, such as Patrick Bray, whom I met only a few times. Of course I heard a lot about from his sister, my grandmother, Catherine née Bray, who was the mother of the Redemptorist, Father Richard Selleck. If I may say so the honesty and gentleness with which you write which you write about your family is very moving. Even more so on a second reading than on the first."]

The lots of these two people are now thrown together for them to make a life for themselves and bring a family into the world.  Who were they?

Mac, or Maxie, as some of his friends called him, was a man of great charm by all accounts.  He was working at Bray and Holliday where he learnt his trade as a French Polisher, and he was a good one.  He and his workmates made a four piece bedroom suite for Honor as a wedding present: hand-made, a beautiful walnut veneer which deepened with age so well was it polished by Mac, and the joinery masterly.  That bedroom suite – double bed, wardrobe, lowboy and dressing table – was part of this family for forty-five years and should have remained an entity and become and heirloom, such was its craftmanship and beauty.

Mac was a man out of a cold family, his mother died when he was young and his father seems to have been a distant man.  He never seemed to have any of the softening touches that marked the women – our mother and our two grandmothers – in our lives, and we could not approach him.  Contact, in our relationships, was aggressive not gentle.  How he felt towards us we never knew; whether he yearned for our warmth, or hugs and goodnight kisses, we could not tell.  Whether he was a possessive man – the look on his face in the Bray and Holliday photo suggests that thought – or whether he was a cold man, or whether he was simply unable to show his affection, I do not know.  His friends found him charming, but in the family circle he was an outsider.  Did he start that way; did he grow that way; or did we make him so?

Honor was beautiful.  I did not realise that when she was just my mother, but in time I came to realise it: photo after photo attests to it.  She was also a splendid dresser.  Her wedding dress is a calf length skirt and a coat which reached to just above the knees.  The skirt was pleated in front and the jacket had wide lapels and side pockets.  Her hat was close-fitting with bunched ribbon at the front and a mere wisp of a veil.  The ensemble was cream, and Honor knew how to make the most of it.  In fact the coat did service for some time afterwards: that was typical of her, for she had a lot of clothing remodelled for further use; and when she died, we came across a skirt and coat in a houndstooth pattern that she had had for at least thirty years.  She had innate good taste.  She posed well for her wedding photos as she did for every photo taken of her, and I never knew her to dress with less than good taste when she went anywhere – to work, to the theatre, a function, a wedding.

She was a reserved, modest woman, which probably added to her attractiveness.  She used to say she had no “man appeal”, but she certainly had “it” in her younger days.  I never knew any man to be attracted to her after Mac died, and I could never understand why.  She simply never set out to use her beauty to attract.  It was as if twenty five years of marriage was enough of that sort of thing, thank you very much.

Honor left Bray and Holliday, probably soon after her marriage.  Mac stayed on for many years, though I have a recollection that he worked at Clyde Engineering early in the War years – but I’m not sure.  I know I went there with him once, whether it was while we lived at Stanmore or after he returned from Japan, I do not remember.

Honor and Mac settled down to married life first of all in Boundary Street, Paddington, above the fish shop, second from the Liverpool Street corner, in the set of shops opposite Number 43 where her parents were now living.  Their first son, Paul Edward, was born 14 July 1937.  There was a move to Bondi – where, I do not know – and at some time a move to 91 Cavendish Street, Stanmore; they were still in Paddington, however, when I, their second son Anthony Malcolm was born, 18 July 1940.

This made a whole set of “July birds”, as Honor called them: John James Whittaker and Paul on the 14th, Honor on the 16th and Tony on the 18th.

There were happy times.  What a beautiful photo it is of Mac, Honor and Muriel Mann – a close friend of Honor’s who died, if I remember rightly, of consumption – outside Repin’s: Honor in black and cream (that wedding coat again) and matching simple hat, Mac in a dark suit and light hat looking very swish, and a broadly smiling Muriel with a fur flung over her shoulder.  And another happy photo of Mac and a smiling Honor in close contact on the Genoa velvet lounge in Stanmore.

Honor’s brother Doug married Dorothy Jones, 28 June 1940, and Doug was whisked away to war in the Merchant Navy.  Dorothy settled in Merchant Street, Stanmore, just around the corner from us in Cavendish Street; and in those troubled days of the early ‘Forties we had many people to care for us.  Dorothy and Doug have remained close to our family ever since, in many and varied circumstances.

Dorothy May Haynes was born 10 June 1912 in St Kilda, Melbourne.  Her father was David Haynes and her mother Mary Anne Jones.  Her maternal grandparents had a farm, “Ganmain” near Wagga Wagga.  Mrs Jones (senior), known as “the Mater”, had thirteen children including Annie, Dorothy’s mother; Tom, who married Truda (a Middle European woman who once understudied to Pavlova); and Dick, who married Nell.  The Mater would never countenance Annie’s marriage to David Haynes whom Dorothy described as “a complete rotter who had many women”.  Nonetheless Dorothy was bitter about the treatment of her mother, and used to recall a story of two women approaching Annie on a tram and telling her they were the daughters of one of her sisters, who had recently died.

Dorothy had a brother, David, who had nothing to do with Dorothy for many years before he died in 1996.  I remember Mrs Jones: she lived in Dillon Street Paddington for many years, under the name Jones, not Haynes.

Dorothy and Douglas had no children.  He died. having gone quickly and quietly, 14 April 1986.  She died in the Nursing Home at McQuoin Park, Waitara, 5 July 1995.  I had arranged for her to move from the Legacy Hostel at Norah Heads where she betook herself after Doug died, and where she spent six or seven happy years.  I was her only regular visitor over those last years, though there was the occasional visit by other kind folk.

It was at Stanmore that I first came to consciousness of life around me.  My earliest recollections are of a visit to Condobolin perhaps in 1944: I remember rushing home – wherever that might have been – to beat the approaching dust storm.  There is a photo of a dressed up little boy in his Grandmother Butler’s hat and apron.  The same little lad walked the streets of Stanmore in his singlet and was led home by a cattle dog which promptly adopted us – our much loved Bluey, my dog (so they say – I have no recollection of it at all.)  And the splinter from the front fence straight up my buttocks: promise not to cry when I get it out and you can have an ice block.”  I still remember my chagrin because Adele got an ice block, too, without the agonies of the splinter.

Adele was born 15 November 1942 at Braeside Private Hotel (Cambridge Street Stanmore), as we children impishly called the private hospital for years.  A year or two later something had gone wrong: Adele was being taken care of by Dorothy; Paul and I went to St. Joseph’s Orphanage at Croydon.  St. Joseph’s was a cruel place for us as little children, not through any fault of the Sisters, who did their best in the War years.  I remember the pea soup that first night, the lonely dormitory, brothers separated, scary tricks, mixed-up tooth brushes and being made to spend the rest of the night in soiled pyjamas, bread and jam for the afternoon tea – I can still taste the jam.  The child’s memory is sensitive.  I was never so pleased to see my father as when Sister came down the yard that afternoon to tell Paul and me there was a visitor for us in the parlour – well, there was one other time.

Paul and I had been admitted to the orphange by Sister Mary Winifred 6 May 1944,  taken there by Mum.  Her occupation was given as Home Duties; she paid 10/- per week for each of us and was to provide our clothing.  Dad’s occupation was given as AIF (Australian Infantry Forces) and his address as Overseas.  Dad, of course, was not to go overseas until he went to Japan with the British Commonwealth Occupation Forces in October 1946.  He certainly collected Paul and me from the Home, 22 July 1944 (four days after my fourth birthday), according to the records – and my memory.  I believe Dad was living with his step-mother in Womerah Avenue, but he must have moved back to Stanmore around that time, because my memories are starting to become clearer then, and he was there.  I had always been led to believe that Mum was in hospital during these six weeks, and that may be so; but then it may also have been a period of some kind of breakdown for her.

So life resumed at Stanmore.  I remember playing the priest saying Mass: a candle in a biscuit barrel, green vestments and my sister serving.  Dad blew the candle out and closed the service, not  so much for fear of fire – temporal or eternal, I’m afraid.  I remember my fifth birthday: the three-piece jig-saw puzzle, walking down Merchant Street past the house with flowers for sale, and watching the boys play football beyond the wire fence – that was Newington.  Adele recollects her broken leg and the quaint picture she made in the pram; and rushing home from Dorothy’s house in Merchant Street (Stanmore, where Dorothy lived, around the corner from us in Cavendish Street) in such a hurry that she had her two legs in one leg of her pants.

Amongst Dorothy’s effects left when she died I found some charming photos taken between about 1939 and 1945.  Several of them feature happy picnics in the Blue Mountains and include Mum, Dad and Paul with Dorothy and Doug, and two beaming pictures of me at Merchant Street.

In 1946 I went to school at St. Michael’s across the other side of the railway line, and Paul was sent off to Saint John the Baptist’s boarding school at Hunters Hill.  Mac was not on the scene, and three children were a lot for Honor to manage, so Paul went to boarding school and Honor had to work.  I think she must have started those cleaning jobs she had for some years, for she was not at Bray and Holliday.

My next recollections are of being at Kensington in a small goods store in Anzac Parade almost opposite the old Doncaster Theatre.  I went to school at Our Lady of the Rosary just up the street, and was in the Preparatory Class in 1946; I know that because I have a certificate for “First Place in Religion” for that year.  I was the only man in that household which consisted of Honor, Adele, Dorothy and a friend Meryl.  Meryl was a mystery: she was known as Miss White, but was really Miss Gilmore, and was eventually to marry Dorothy’s brother David.  She was part of the family scene for another twenty years, but that is a different story.

We could have been at Kensington only about twelve months, probably late 1945 to late 1946.  I remember one of my Christmas gifts, a large sweet in the shape of a fish, pale green.  And there was a tremendous hail storm during the year, too, severe enough to make the headlines.  There were problems at Kensington, and Honor decided to move out because the atmosphere was hostile.  I remember it as Dot and Meryl against Mum (my memory of one violent encounter is crystal clear fifty years later – Meryl holding my mother up against a wall with a carving knife while Dorothy looked on.  Adele and I were standing there as well) though Dorothy remembers the whole business differently.  Mum gathered up Adele and me one night, we walked along Anzac Parade to Alison Road, caught the tram to Taylor Square and walked down to 41 Boundary Street where Gladys was living.  Adele and I remember the night with some clarity: the ringing of the doorbell, the matresses hastily arrranged on the floor.  It must have been late in 1946 or early 1947, and we stayed there until 1956.

Where was Dad at this time?  It seems that he was back at Womerah Avenue with his step-mother, though he did harass Mum at the back fence at Kensington.  Dorothy Whittaker said in later years that we “did not give him a hearing.”  She also expressed disapproval of Honor’s move to Darlinghurst, saying Gladys should not have “interfered” in affairs between Honor and Mac, as she had done when they lived over the fish shop in Boundary Street some years before.  She was blunt enough to say (August 1993) that “Gladys should have refused to allow Honor to stay and sent her back to Kensington to face things and sort them out.”

Mac joined the Australian Army 14 March 1946 for a period of two years.  He spent most of that time as a Private, but was promoted to Lieutenant Corporal for about six weeks.  He served with the 21 Works Company (Engineer Unit), 67 Battalion, and Headquaters 34 Brigade.  He embarked per “Kanimbla”, 31 October 1946, for Kure, Japan, and was to stay there till he re-embarked per the same “Kanimbla” 9 May 1948 for Sydney.  He spent two periods of about a week in hospital suffering from eye strain and later with pharyngitis.  I have no idea of the nature of his work in Japan, but the surviving photos show a great deal of fun and familiarity with the local people.  All in all it seems to have been a not unpleasant tour of duty.  He was discharged from the Army 13 April 1948, by which time Mum, Adele and I were settled in 41 Boundary Street, Darlinghurst.

Adele and I began school at St. Canice’s, Elizabeth Bay, in 1947 with the Sisters of Charity.  I remember being moved from First to Second Class in that year, being taught by Sister Eleanor and Sister Francis Xavier; and in Third Class I met the first of my great mentors, Sister Ursula.  Adele was taught in Kindergarten by the aged Miss Keneally and got herself into trouble for calling the playground the back yard!  She redeemed herself in time sufficiently to play Mary in the annual Christmas pageant, but it was more because of her long fair hair than from any recognisable incipient virtue.  Paul was still in exile at St John the Baptist, Hunters Hill, and we would catch the tram to Salter Street or the ferry to the Figtree Wharf to visit him every month or so.  Then there was the long haul up the hill and an occasional visit to Saint Joseph’s College across the road and an adventure into the dark recesses of the grotto of Our Lady, (it was a replica of the grotto at Lourdes, and is now demolished) or up the high tower (not so accessible to the casual visitor now).  And I remember Sister Clothilde dandling me on her knee and letting me fall through the folds of her habit.

Things settled down as we made our home at 41 Boundary Street: Pop Whit remained in the front room, occasionally setting it on fire with his pipe which had an impressive will of its own; and Nan Whit moved into 43 which she let upstairs to the Moffats upstairs – a dour, unsmiling couple – and a room dopwnstairs to two delightful Maltese migrant lads.  Upstairs at 41 was let to the Hamilton family, so our privacy was not even relative.

Honor was now working at the Goldhills’ and for Mrs. Fiaschi.  Mr. Goldhill was a wealthy Jewish bookmaker who lived in Wolseley Road, Point Piper, with his wife and her father, Mr. Norman.  They were a lovely couple and were very kind to Mum who cleaned and washed and ironed several days a week: we children were always made welcome and invited to have a bottle of Coca-Cola, which they purchased in crates, whenever we went to visit Mum out there – we were not encouraged to do so, for Honor always had a strong sense of the propriety of things.  It was the same at Mrs. Fiaschi’s wine bar in Little Hunter Street where Australia Square now stands.  Honor used to paste labels on bottles in what would      be described as Dickensian conditions, but in those days it was atmosphere and no one complained, least of all Honor.  She had a little table under a high, dusty, barred window, and would mix her own paste ready for the bottles which had been filled and corked and trundled along by Mr. Hunt: bottles of sherry, port, muscat, frontignac and alliartico, magical names.  And how we enjoyed playing there, being made much of by Mrs Kay and Mr Hunt who would let the little rubber tube ‘accidentally’ drip wine into our hands between bottles, and even being allowed to touch Mrs. Fiaschi’s typewriter: “It’s alright Mrs. Butler they’re not doing any harm”.  Her husband had been a well-known doctor at Sydney Hospital, and Il Porcellino that stands outside the hospital was erected in his memory by his daughters. Doctor Fiaschi had eloped with a Sister of Charity from St Vincent’s Hospital where he worked.  The Mrs. Fiaschi we knew was his second wife, Amy Curtis.  She was a real lady who lived in the Astor flats in Macquarie Street; she always made us children feel special, and that has never ceased to amaze me.  And she loved and respected my mother, as did the Goldhills.

The story of Doctor Fiaschi, his benevolence, his marriage and his vineyards out near Richmond and now operating at Mudgee under a different name (Stein’s, I think) is fully told elsewhere.

There was regular church, for we grew up in a very Catholic atmosphere which I took for granted and never found oppressive.  I made my first Communion at Saint Canice’s, Elizabeth Bay,in October 1947.  St Canice’s is a beautiful little Gothic church modelled on the cathedral of the same name in Ireland.  I found it dark and not very appealing as a child, but I have grown to love its quiet and its dusky light and peace.

I started piano lessons, too, with Miss Carmelita Hayes, a black haired beauty who still enhances the Gladesville social scene to this day (1986), though no longer black haired.  I met her and her son at a function at St Joseph’s College in 1985, though she had no memory of me.  She was the first of a long line of music teachers who included, among others, Carmel Lutton of the Newcastle Conservatorium and for a short spell Sylviane Huguenin of the Fribourg Conservatorium in Switzerland, and a very humble lady, Sister Cecily Coaldrake in Newcastle.

Home was a place where we were educated in spelling and good values.  Honor was an excellent speller and insisted that we spell properly – she taught us fascinating words and could tell us how many letters in a word as quick as a wink; she taught us quaint ways of remembering “Parramatta”, Mississippi” and “Woolloomooloo”.  But more than anything else she taught us the value, reinforced by Gladys’s words, of devotion to little things and loyalty to a job.  Amongst her papers are bits and pieces of verse and good advice from the radio or the Readers Digest or magazines which she continued to collect all her life.  In a prominent spot in our kitchen, a framed verse stood:

Keep forgin’ ahead though the going is tough;

Keep tryin’ – you’re sure to win -

Keep swingin’ along when the trail is rough

And fate seems a crook web to spin.

Keep smilin’ when others are wearing a frown,

Keep up your spirits, be gay,

Keep in the swim, only feeble ones drown:

There’s blue up above the gray.

Life may be a gamble, but play the game fair;

Keep up your chin, and you’re sure to get there.

E. Gailer

It’s not Shakespeare and it’s not religious, but those values lived out in a very positive way in Honor’s life became our values, and good ones they are too.  She used to quote often: “A still tongue is a wise head”, and I think in living out that precept she kept many things hidden which would have been easier if shared.  She chose to keep them close and thus she suffered.  Nevertheless she was a happy woman who sang a lot: she had a song for nearly everything we said.

We were happy in those days of post-war ration books: we ate well and were neatly clothed, even if some of the clothes were patched or hand-me-down.  We always had shoes.  We had good, simple food, and were not permitted a lot of soft drink or cooked food from shops – hamburgers and chips were not allowed.  I, who had a delicate stomach, suffered the pains, and the joys, of scallops clandestinely bought and hastily eaten. Adele once, on an outing in an open car from Kensington with some of Dorothy’s male friends, let the side down unwittingly when she failed to gobble her hamburger quickly enough: she also avoided the indigestion.  But all is long since forgiven!

In April 1948 Mac returned from Japan with a sword and some beautiful dolls, lots of stories and a dozen Japanese words.  I will never forget the day.  Adele and I were at Saint Canice’s school, mother arrived early to take us home – and I knew.  We went to Nan Butler’s place in Womerah Avenue and he was there.  I was so overcome with the joy of seeing him that I had to clasp the newel post at the bottom of the stairs to control myself.  It was never like that again.

There was a picnic at National Park – the only time I can remember all of us being together.  On one occasion he took Adele and me fishing in Rose Bay; I remember he had to leave his watch (an old Jewelux, not worth much, but I still have it and it still keeps excellent time). I caught a leather jacket, and Adele was afraid he was going to drown us: not a successful day.  So off he went to work, back to Bray and Holliday and called out that first morning “sayonara”; we all dutifully chorused “onara”.  But after that there was a slow decline in family life as he had all his teeth extracted and would never wear false teeth; and the drinking grew steadily worse, we began to dread the hearty whistle through the letter box in the front door, the tantrums and abuse and the taunting.

At the end of 1948 Paul was ransomed home, and the next year he and I went to the Marist Brothers’ High School on Darlinghurst Hill.  It was touch and go: I nearly went to the Christian Brothers at Rose Bay, but I did not like the atmosphere on a preliminary visit. Darlinghurst was a wonderful school and the Brothers in their black habits were giants of men and were good to the core: Brother Edmundus (long since a priest and still a dear friend [he died a few years after this was written]), Brother Michael Naughtin, (these two had walked down to St Canice’s and, dressed in their habits, encouraged us Third Class boys to attend the school on the hill), Brother Honorius who produced “Trial by Jury” and the “Pirates of Penzance”, the saintly Brother Cyrillus (now Brother Brian) who ‘mistook’ Honor and Gladys for sisters, and the delighful eccentric Brother Wilbred (John Norman) for whom I had a lot of affection.  There were others, all of whom left their impression.  They were good men.

Adele and I grew closer, playing in the back lane (Lindsay Lane) with Kenny Gold and the Restuccia boys, racing down the hill in a billy cart which might or might not take the corner at the bottom, playing hidings in Woods’s huge backyard like some moated grange, twice five miles of fertile ground.  We would ring doorbells and run away down to Rushcutters Bay, do a spot of fishing and dare each other to enter the storm water channel where Bea Miles was supposed to camp: we never saw her in there.  There were explorations of the factory dumps in McLachlan Avenue looking for biros and rubber plugs and Christmas decorations and crayons: it was at the crayon factory that I first learnt I was a philanderer, whatever that was.  We would also go to Redleaf Pool, but that wasfull of “reffos” so we preferred Bondi.  Out we would go on the tram, the sight of the water as we crested the hill was coolness itself.  We always swam in the Baths: I swam better than she did, but she was a better diver.  I didn’t want her hanging around but we were close; and though we fought, I also entertained her with dramas performed under the piano stool set up with curtains.  The actors were the Japanese dolls and the primitive scripts depended on dreadful puns concerning “flied lice”.  Paul in the meantime was off with the boys, Dominic Alfano, the Italian boy from the house behind us, and Bobby Morris, who was not quite good company for a boy of Honor’s.

Paul also moved into 43, to a room of his own, partly because of space problems but primarily to give him a break from Mac who was very cruel to him.  We had a small room built off the kitchen which became mine, and a throughfare.  Adele slept in our parents’ bedroom.

One Sunday afternoon while Honor and Mac went off for a rest, we were playing in the backyard.  I harnessed some ropes to two big old garage doors leaning against the back shed, and drove these horses wildly till they came crashing down on my legs: two of our neighbours hung over the back gate (which had replaced the wild horses) rather amused, mother and father were rather disturbed and I ended up rather sore in bandages for six weeks.

Meantime life went on with anger and hurts because of Dad’s drink.  We went to school, we went to church, we attended the Saturday night novena when Dad was not too contrary to let us go. I don’t know whether he disapproved of religion, though he had become a nominal Catholic to marry Honor, but he certainly did not take to it.  We must have appeared very odd to him, and I’m sure he never understood my decision to become a Marist Brother.  I just don’t think religion had any meaning for him, even though his step mother was not only very religious, but also a very good woman.  Cardinal Freeman was right: Dad had no religion.

Honor returned to Bray and Holliday in about 1950 and remained there till 1959.  She and Gladys took a holiday in Tasmania for two weeks in about 1950 or 1951 and they lived on the memory of that for many years.  Gladys was not the one to take many holidays – the occasional few days with her sister Stella in Katoomba, a trip to Perth on the Indian-Pacific probably about 1966, and a farewell visit to Condobolin on 1972.

Anger at home turned to battle, I being very defensive of my mother who suffered greatly.  She often used to scare me by saying: “You children will be the death of me.  My brain will snap”.  One day beforewe left for school she collapsed in the hallway and I had visions of the brain finally gone.  During lulls in the storm Mac would take one or other of us (generally me, as I recall) to the Great Wall Chinese Cafe on the corner of Victoria and Sussex Streets: it seemed like spite at the time, because our food at home was very good, but he was also looking for our support and affection.

Our music lessons went on: Adele and I learnt the piano, she from Sister Roseanne (still alive and well at Auburn in 1998) at St Canice’s and I from Sisters Anastasius and Christopher at Sacred Heart.  Paul learnt the banjo-mandolin from Mannie Piers who was rather well known then.  Adele was to take up athletics later, and ballroom dancing.  Honor was very conscious of the need for a good education for her children and she worked hard to supplement Dad’s income, which was slowly being drunk away.   She also continued to instil in us the very strict  values by which both she and her mother lived.  Once I took one of my little journeys by public transport – I loved getting on the tram for a ride to Erskine Street or Watson’s Bay or La Perouse, on the bus to Palm Beach, the train to Hornsby or the ferry to Manly – and on this occasion having got to Manly, I went to Narrabeen by tram.  I ran out of money, having bought some Lifesavers I couldn’t afford, so I approached a gentlemen in the street for the sixpence I needed for the trip home.  He gave me a shilling.  My mother felt constrained to send him some postage stamps to repay him – she had taken the trouble to look up his address.  He was kind enough to reply:

26th August 1952

Dear Madam,

I acknowledged the receipt of your letter of the 25th inst., and I can assure you that I never at any time suspected that Tony was up to any ruse to obtain money.  As an instance, after a short conversation with him when he asked me what the fares were from Narrabeen to Manly, I guessed what his trouble might be, and offered him 2/- which he stoutly refused to accept.  I can assure you that I had to persuade him very forcibly to accept even l/-.

I take this opportunity to congratulate you on the excellent bearing of the boy and his display of good manners and right training.

I might add that the old school tie which he was wearing first attracted my attention to him.

Yours faithfully,

J.0. Williams

One wonders today what a boy would be doing wearing his school tie on a day off, though casual clothing was not common for children in those days: your best clothes were your school clothes.

I met Mr. Williams many years later at a Darlinghurst ex-students reunion.

Mum’s values were quite powerful and counter to the common.  On another occasion years later, just before I was about to enter the noviciate of the Marist Brothers, Honor, Adele and I went with a group of Darlinghurst parents and friends to a New Year’s Eve Dance at the Presbyterian Church at Peter’s Corner at Randwick.  As midnight approached, the minister invited us to attend a little ceremony in the church to mark the occasion.  In those days it was forbidden for Catholics to worship in the churches of other denominations, but to my mother’s credit she insisted that we join in what was a very suitable acknowledgement of past blessings and future hopes.  It was a lesson I never forgot and an action that was intuitive on her part, not planned.

During my years at Darlinghurst I began visiting Sister Ursula who had taught me at Saint Canice’s.  It was a very strong friendship and in retrospect an unusual one: I was ten and she was three score and ten and probably more, but it was a very natural and affectionate relationship.  She was born Mary Ethel Leary in Melbourne, 28 September 1878, and was professed as a Sister of Charity 26 September 1903 aged twenty-five.  She taught in various schools in Melbourne and Sydney and died 25 September 1959, three days short of her eighty-first birthday and one day short of her fifty-sixth year of religious profession.

I would walk to Saint Vincent’s at Potts Point after Mass every few weeks to talk to her and walk around the grounds; there would always be a cup of tea or a glass of soft drink and some biscuits which I had to consume under the affectionate eyes of a half a dozen old nuns called Mother Saint Peter and Sister Scholastica, because they were not permitted to eat in front of lay folk.  Even when I visited her in St Vincent’s Hospital over the years, I had to eat my ice-cream in the corridor while she ate hers in bed.  I was bitterly disappointed when she died in 1959 not be permitted to go to her funeral because my Superior at the time told me “Brothers don’t go to nuns’ funerals”.  I had been faithful to her for many years at Pott’s Point, at St. Vincent’s Hospital and at the Sisters’ house at Lewisham.

Her letters were couched in the beautiful piety of the time and reinforced the lessons of our home.  Her first letter to me was a model of the expression of the  pre-Vatican II church and nonetheless dear now:

The Sisters of Charity

St. Vincent’s Convent

Potts Point

June 13th, 1950

Dear Anthony,

Today is the feast of your great patron and yours! I wish you a happy one.          There is no sunshine and rain is falling heavily, but I hope there is sunshine in your heart – the result of having it filled with God’s grace and being free from sin.  Where God’s grace reigns there is always happiness.

It is a long way down to Potts Point but I cannot forget your kindness to me while in the hospital.  Your visits were bright spots while I was there, and for them I am very grateful to you.  In holiday time you may be able to get a chance of calling in at the Convent.  Some Sunday afternoon your mother might bring you down if she is not too tired.  I would like to see Del too.

I am enclosing a card with a prayer to St. Anthony on the back.  Try, from reading it constantly, to learn it by heart.  Then all through your life call on the help of your patron by saying it when in any difficulty.  He will never fail to come to your assistance.  It is a nice little prayer and very efficacious.

I do hope you are working well at school, Anthony, and practising your music well.  What you will be in the future depends much on how you devote yourself to your studies now.  You ought to be filling your mind now with thoughts of what you would like to do for God when you grow up.  No matter what sphere of life you work in, your work may be done for God whether as a lawyer, a doctor, an engineer or a priest, even a labourer of any kind.  To enter heaven we must become a saint.  Only that St. Anthony became one, he would have been forgotten hundreds of years ago and would have received none of the honour that has been his.

Don’t say this letter is a real sermon, Anthony!  I do want you to be good – to try to be a leader in what is good.  You have it in you to do this and will always have the help of my poor prayers.

Again, a happy feast day!  May joy, happiness and goodness be yours always.

Sometimes say a prayer for Your old Friend in J.C.

S.M. Ursula

Remember me to the boys!

In 1953 change was on the way again.  Paul left school and went to be apprenticed as a boiler-maker at Nichol Brothers, Balmain.  He was sixteen.

And I decided to join the Marist Brothers’ Order: I was twelve and a half and about to enter the second year of high school.

My decision to join the Brothers was probably a hard blow to Mum who apart from saying No orginally never stood in my way.  It was only many years later that she told me how she wept inside for a long time after.  I made my decision in July 1952, quite definitely at school one day, and that afternoon I met her bringing Adele home from her music lesson.  I told her immediately that I was going to join the Brothers at the end of the year, she replied “No you’re not”, I answered “Yes I am”, and that was that.  I knew better than to argue with my mother.  She presumed it was a passing fancy, but at the beginning of January 1953 we went to see Brother Andrew Power, the provincial of the order at that time, at Saint Joseph’s College, Hunters Hill, to make final arrangements.  His letter of 20th December 1952 had us as little monks already.  We were encouraged to say our morning and evening prayers better, to attend a few extra week-day Masses, to say an extra rosary every day, to be more helpful and docile at home, to make a careful choice of our amusements during the holidays – and me every bit of twelve years of age.

Off I went on the 4 p.m. train from Central Railway, Wednesday 28 January 1953, in the company of twenty or thirty other potential Marist Brothers to continue our secondary schooling.  It meant giving up many things, but in time the things that mattered most were not knowing my family as we all got older and not being permitted to continue my piano lessons.

In 1954 Adele went on to St. Vincent’s College, Potts Point, walking up to the Allans’ in Kings Cross Road and on to school with Juliana, sister of my school friend Peter, Gerard and the beautiful Leonie whom I’d have married once I’d gotten over Caroline Shorter in Third Class.  Adele continued to go to Katoomba for her holidays, loving Merriwa House as much as I did, sleeping in Room Six above the kitchen stove, walking around those splendid tracks to Echo Point and into the valleys.  Holidays were a regular feature of her life: it was off to North Haven when Stella Sivyer moved there from Katoomba, and travelling by car with Mum in the years after she left school.  She continued her music for several grades, and became a good athlete: Sister Ursula writes, 27 September 1954, “the Sports Day of the united schools of the Sisters of Charity takes place at the Sydney Sports Ground 10th October.  Del should do well.  She is a live wire and keenly interested in sport”.  To this day she still plays tennis and badminton, and has won prizes for pistol shooting.  She loves watching tennis on the television, as does Paul: this brother, on the other hand, has no interest in sport in any form.

I spent two years at Bowral with some eighty other students, under the severe eye of Brother William Molloy, given the job as a reward for many years of devoted service in the education of youth: he was a good man but too old to have any real flair for the task.  It was Brother Cyrillus, our old friend from Darlinghurst days, who kept the place livable by his own patient hard work and personal goodness.  God alone knows how he coped.

After two years at Bowral, having completed my Intermediate Certificate, I moved on to Fourth Year and Leaving Certificate at Mittagong.  The two years at Mittagong were difficult years for me because of my lack of interest in sport, and people who spoke my kind of language were not easily understood.  For fifteen months we lived in fear of doing wrong, and little genuine growth took place.  It was Brother Owen Kavanagh who made sense of life for me, displaying a sensitivity without words, which I only appreciated years later.  There were, of course, regular visits from my long-suffering family and regular letters from Sister Ursula: happy birthday wishes in July, “Your last letter surprised me so wonderful was the writing (for you)” – I had been a shocking writer and she had nicknamed me “Smudgy Butler” in Third Class.  She says “I saw Dell this morning.  She has grown very much but is very thin.  Believe she looked very nice at the ball last week and danced very well.  Someone told me she was most graceful.  Hope your studies are going well.  The results you sent along were very good.”

And after the Leaving Certificate exam she writes, 30 November 1956, “Am pleased you found the papers so easy . . . you seem quite joyous over your entrance to the Noviciate.  There you can have a very happy time if you enter into the true spirit of things, and this I am sure you will do”.

I did, indeed, in spite of the warnings of Father Tierney, administrator of Saint Canice’s ringing in my ears: “Don’t take it too seriously”.  I did not understand the common sense behind his message.  If I had, the noviciate might have been even better.  As it was, it meant an encounter with one of the most wonderful men in my life, Brother Ethelred Ferguson: he was erudite, urbane, charming, witty, a genuinely cultivated man, holy and practical in an era when so many of these good men could not allow their humanity to shine forth.  I came to say of him, as Ben Jonson said of Shakespeare: “I worship that man this side idolatry.”

So Mittagong became, and remains, the womb: it has provided on several occasions a life-restoring retreat for me.

Towards the end of 1956 the family moved to 22 Coolena Road, Elanora Heights: Gladys and Jack, Honor, Paul and Adele.  Mac would not go.  He chose to live in a room at Rushcutters Bay with the Fraser family whose children were old school friends of ours.  We found it a little embarrassing.  Things began to fall apart for Mac at this time: the drinking increased, he was to lose his job at Bray and Holliday through various indiscretions.  Adele recalls some years before when she and Ken Gold went fishing down at Rushcutters Bay that they discovered Mac doing his own spot of fishing:  they were promptly told to take themselves off.  He had been sprung, as they say.  He eventually found himself a job with O’Brien Glass, and ended his days with them.

Life at Elanora may have had its advantages but it made for long hours.  Gladys walked every morning of the week down to Narrabeen to catch the 6am bus to town; Paul drove Honor and Adele in later.  Adele would go to the A.N.Z. Bank to help Gladys with the cleaning until it was time to go to school; Honor was at Bray and Holliday till early 1959; Paul was at his work and going to technical college in the evening.  That meant either a bus ride home for Honor and Adele or a long wait in the car till classes finished for Paul.  Still, the hours were sometimes lightened with waffles and fresh cream from a shop near Central Railway (I can still picture that shop from many years before) and purchases of squill candy.  Squill candy had been a favourite of Nan Butler and could be purchased at the Cross or Taylor Square, but nobody has heard of it today, nor of the barmbrack we used to buy at the breadshop at the top of William Street.  Alas, the pleasures of our childhood.

Honor returned from Bray and Holliday in February 1959, with this complimentary letter from her old friend Pat Bray (though it was always “Mr.  Bray” to his face):

Seventeenth

February

Nineteen

fifty-nine.

Dear Honor,

With pleasure I make this record of your long association with us extending over many years.  You have always had the company’s interests at heart and proven to be most capable in the duties of telephonist, combined with clerical work.

On many occasions we have received very complimentary messages concerning the efficient way you have treated our clients, sellers and my personal friends.

We are very sorry indeed to lose your services, and we do miss you very much.  Attached hereto is cheque Pounds 26.0.0 less tax, being your usual bonus.

Warmest of good wishes, Honor, and please visit us when you have the opportunity.

BRAY & HOLLIDAY PTY. LTD.

The next six months were a bad period for Honor: she was experiencing tension and bad health and undoubtedly suffered a slight breakdown, which may have occasioned her leaving Bray and Holliday; but I think the bottom was falling out of

that business – they were manufacturers of shop-fronts and show-cases, and life was not so elegant any more.  I do not know the details of these difficult days.

Before she found work with the W.B. Lawrence Advertising Agency, she turned to various businesses, and survived on her savings – she knew nothing of sickness or medical benefits.  She began with W.B. Lawrence 3 September 1959 and stayed until January 1975.  It was a job which suited her talents and allowed her to mix with a very different class of people from the solid, old-fashioned, but eminently reliable, Bray and Holliday group.  W.B. Lawrence personnel were brilliant, arty personalities, witty and creative, charming but febrile.  Honor fitted in well because she herself, though she could not be described in all the above terms, was charming, cool and competent, providing a stability these fascinating people appreciated.  Till the day she finished most of them called her “Mrs.  Butler”, only a few of them being close enough to address her as Honor.

In the meantime I had received, 2 July 1957, the habit of the Marist Brothers Order and the religious name, Brother Placidus, and gone on to make my first vows exactly twelve months later, in an impressive ceremony held in the huge chapel at Saint Joseph’s College, Hunters Hill.  My first teaching appointment, a green, unshaven lad, two weeks short of my eighteenth birthday, was to St. Augustine’s College Cairns, a boarding school.  It was not quite an unmitigated disaster, for the six months’ experience taught me what not to do in a classroom.  During those six months, from July to December in 1958, I was well looked after by the Brothers, who made sure I visited whatever was within the bounds of the Rule and possibility.        They packed me off to Sydney in December to the next stage of training, the scholasticate at Dundas, with Ten Pounds in my pocket.  So it was there I began my four years at Sydney University and Sydney Teachers College, leading me to a Bachelor of Arts Degree and a Diploma of Education.

1959 was a big year for three of us: Honor left Bray and Holliday and began at W.B. Lawrence, Adele sat for the Leaving Certificate and I went to Sydney University.  The details of these years will be left to another time if not another chronicler, but they are well documented in letters, cards and memorabilia and await only the right moment for the telling.

The big shock which began 1960 was Dad’s death.  I had seen him at the Marist Brothers Scholasticate, Dundas, where I was studying, in September 1959 for the last time.  He did not spend Christmas with us.  Dorothy Whittaker saw him at Christmas dinner in a city hotel.  Early in January he appears to have returned to his room at the Frasers’ on the weekend and engaged in some fairly heavy drinking which presumably killed him.  On Wednesday, 6 January, he was discovered, having been dead for some time; the police called at Elanora Heights to break the news to Honor and the family – we had no phone.  The next morning they contacted me at Mittagong where the young Brothers were holidaying: we were down at the coast for a picnic, so I did not get the message till that evening; and I travelled alone to Sydney next morning for the funeral – a few dozen people and a three or four Marist Brothers to see him across the Styx.

He left a better impression in some hearts than he did in ours, regretfully.  His drinking mates at the Bayswater Hotel, Rushcutters Bay, put up a plaque:

MAXIE (EUCHRE) BUTLER

FROM STAFF & PATRONS

OF THE BAYSWATER

“Its [sic] monotonous being Perfect”

This presumably was a favourite saying of Mac’s, and there is no doubt his friends believed him.  They were still there in 1986, drinking, in the same spot, Les Jorgensen, who had the plaque inscribed and erected, and Roger Murphy – they remember him fondly still and recall his prowess at cards and darts, a bonzer bloke all round.  I can see his gummy smile and his arm around his mates.  It was a picture of my father I was unaware of till I discovered the plaque there in November, 1985, advised of its presence by Paul.

Adele, having gained her Leaving Certificate, went to work at the British Institute of Engineering Technology, where our future sister-in-law, Robyn Chater, was secretary to the director, Mr. Alex Carter (a former Marist Brother).  Having worked there till August, Adele began her preliminary training at St. Vincent’s Hospital – a difficult time, “nearly the end of me, but I survived”, as we all were taught to do.  Something of the Cant in us, I believe.

In 1962, Paul went away to sea as a ship’s engineer.  He wrote regularly while he was away, which is mentionable simply because he is a self-confessed poor correspondent.  His early leters are newsy and excited and everyone of us gets a mention, particularly Dottie, his long-standing girlfriend Dorothy Ford, who later became Dorothy Knox and stayed very devoted to Honor.  But love pops up unexpectedly and in May 1963 Paul is set to marry a Scottish lass, Marion Low.  Whatever it was, it passed, and Paul returned to Sydney to marry not Dorothy Ford but Robyn Chater.  The wedding took lace at Saint Canice’s Church, 23 October 1964, just a couple of weeks before Jack  Whittaker died.

The old gang was beginning to split up.  Adele graduated at Saint Vincent’s, 29 July 1964 and after a holiday at Canowindra, began “specialling”, which meant moving around hospitals and private patients as required.  On one of these jobs she encountered an old flame of the Prince of Wales, Edward, later Duke of Windsor.  And on New Year’s Day 1965 she left for Adelaide via Melbourne to study midwifery.  We remember that day well, for we had been out on Middle Harbour with some friends of mine for the day.  I was enjoying my first holiday home since Christmas 1956, and we returned late in the afternoon to such a tirade from Gladys about the irresponsibility of not being packed and ready to step onto a train for Melbourne, that Adele and I are still quite bewildered by it. Gladys was matriarch to the end: Adele and I at that stage were twenty three and twenty five years of age; she had completed her nursing and was working as Sister Adele Butler; I had been teaching High School for several years and was Brother Placidus Butler – but none of that cut any ice with Gladys, it was still “Do as you’re told.  Don’t argue with me!  Look at the time!”  Gladys’s wrath was something to be reckoned with: I remember once at Boundary Street that I locked myself in the toilet to escape it, but was ultimately so afraid of it that I meekly opened the door and gave myself up rather than make it worse.

I had completed my Bachelor of Arts Degree, majoring in English and History, and had taken the same subjects for my Diploma of Education.  Having graduated at the end of 1962 I was happy to see the end of ten years in training institutions and can say the only years I really enjoyed from 1953 to 1962 were my noviciate under Brother Ethelred’s mild and magnificent eye, and my Diploma of Education year at Sydney Teachers College, when I had the time and freedom to enjoy my studies as well as to write poetry and music and produce “The Pirates of Penzance” with my fellow scholastics.  Beginning with “Trial by Jury” in 1961 there developed a tradition of annual Gilbert and Sullivan operas at Dundas, with an all male cast, which lasted for fifteen years: I was to be there at the beginning and again at the end, having provided the accompaniment for the last four productions, concluding with “Ruddigore”.  They included some of the best Gilbert and Sullivan productions I have ever seen.

For two years I taught at Villa Maria, a little day school opposite Saint Joseph’s College, for Third Grade to Intermediate boys; in fact, 1953 was the final Intermediate year for N.S.W.  Villa Maria was a delightful little school of about 250 pupils, very homely, very friendly, very close-knit.  One of the little primary boys once said: “At our school there are six Brothers and one man” – that “man” was the lay teacher, Doug Sellars.  The mothers in the canteen would vie with each other in providing big lunches for the Brothers and I grew.

Penshurst was my next appointment: it was similar to Villa Maria but growing, as all schools were in those days, with increasing numbers of pupils and lay teachers.  The old order was passing.

At the end of 1965 Adele returned to Sydney with Leonard Bruce Davey whom she married at Narrabeen, 12 January 1966.  They returned soon to Adelaide as Len was with the Air Force and had only a short leave.

By 1967 the Elanora Heights property had become too much for two women to handle, so Gladys and Honor sold up and moved to Neutral Bay, into a lovely unit which in those days looked straight across the Harbour, up Macquarie Street and to the War Memorial in Hyde Park – but if you buy units for views you will soon be disappointed, and of course the inevitable happened in time.  They were happy there for a number of years: it was a comfortable, convenient place which served them well, and their neighbours were of their own kind.

That same year I moved to Eastwood and was teaching senior English and Geography in the newly constructed Wyndham Scheme for N.S.W. high schools.  They were heady days in education, exciting for a young man, stimulating, challenging, productive; besides, we were fighting for state aid for our schools.  I was also studying theology several nights a week at the short lived Holy Spirit Institute of Theology, set up under the wing of St Patrick’s Seminary.  I did four out of the required five years.  I later joined Proscenia Theatre, a group of amateurs who produced excellent Gilbert and Sullivan, and Offenbach operettas.  I performed in “HMS Pinafore”, “Iolanthe”, “The Yeomen of the Guard” and “Utopia Limited”, among others.  Proscenia Theatre was something of a training ground for folk who went on to greater things, people like David Russell, choirmaster of the St Mary’s Cathedral choir, Richard Divall, who became well known in the Victorian Opera scene, and Brian Stacey as a sought-after conductor (he was killed on a motorbike just before the opening of “Sunset Boulevarde” in Melbourne in 1996).  I had always taken an interest in concerts and the theatre and had done a lot of work in that area in our training days and in the schools: some old friends still ask me if I am still producing dramaticals.

Adele and Len moved to Katherine, Northern Territory, where three of their children were born: Bruce Timothy, 27 July 1966, Wayne Anthony, 22 July 1967; and Neill Malcolm, 7 October 1968.  They left the Territory in May 1970 and travelled to Perth via Mount Isa, Brisbane, Sydney, Canberra, Melbourne and Port Augusta by car with the three children and the cat (which was lost, found and air-freighted to them in Perth).  They took the train from Port Augusta to Kalgoorlie, and eventually reached Perth.  They settled for a while at Armadale where Kathleen Grace was born 5 August 1971, and moved to Pinjarra in May 1972.  They were to spend some years at Dwellingup on a five acre block with their own home and a menagerie of cows, sheep, dogs, cat, geese and chickens – it was a good life for those years.  In August 1984 they returned to Pinjarra.

Paul and Robyn moved about a good deal, too: Bondi, Box Hill, Freeman’s Reach.  Their son Michael was born, l0 December 1972.  Their marriage broke up for a time, they came together, and finally they agreed to part.  Paul remained in Melbourne where they had moved to try a new start, and Robyn returned to Sydney with Michael who attended Saint Gregory’s College, Campbelltown, for several years, to complete his School Certificate.

At the end of 1969 I was transferred to Auburn where I became the English Coordinator in the school.  Auburn was a tough area but in my seven years there I grew to appreciate the wonderful quality of family life which marked the people of the surrounding suburbs that fed into the school.  It was in some ways the peak of my teaching career though it began with a period of breakdown that was to be the making of me.  This period began at Christmas 1970.  I spent about five months at the Noviciate at Mittagong, recuperating, and gradually took up full time teaching again in 1972.  I was transferred to Newcastle in 1977 and spent almost five years there amongst very likable people.  It was a rewarding experience to recommence piano lessons after twenty five years, with the gifted teacher, Carmel Lutton, of the Newcastle Conservatorium.  Her husband, Bob, was the nephew of Dorothy Cant née Lutton.

In June 1981 I left Australia and travelled overseas for the experience of a lifetime: Tokyo, Moscow, a month in England, which was like coming home, a five months’  course in spirituality in Switzerland, a country of clean streets, well heeled citizens and time-tables that ran to clockwork precision: I loved it.  It was there that I began a very beautiful friendship with Madame Rita Schneider: two genuine soul-mates.

I spent two weeks in Rome and a week in Jerusalem concluded my journey.  I returned to Sydney and was appointed to Pagewood where I continued the work I had been doing since 1970: teaching senior English, co-ordinating the subject within the school and involving myself in the lives of senior students.  Pagewood was an apostolate very demanding on the soul and I began to feel myself more and more at odds with the environment I was called to work in.  That did not stop me achieving at long last my Associate Diploma in Piano Studies – and engaging in the research and writing of this family history.

The history of these good people, our forebears, draws quickly to its close.  At Easter in 1972, Gladys, Honor and I went to Condobolin to contact the past.  Later that year Honor went overseas, leaving at the end of May, spending most of her time in England and some time on a tour of the Continent.  She returned 10 September 1972, the trip having turned a touch sour for one reason or another.  Life in fact was to become something of an uphill battle for Mum in the next ten years.  In 1974 she and Gladys made arrangements to go and live in Western Australia, closer to Adele, going so far as to put a deposit on a unit in Mandurah.  Gladys at this stage broke her hip, went into hospital and never came out again: after protracted negotiations, Honor was able to cancel the purchase and reclaim the deposit.

This experience left its mark on her and she began to show signs of a severe nervous breakdown which threatened to end in senility.  It was tragic to watch a good woman deteriorate in this way.

On 16 January 1975 she was forced by circumstances to terminate her employment at W.B. Lawrence after fifteen wonderful years.  She was genuinely and deeply loved at that place.  When she had a spell in Sydney Hospital in 1968 there were wonderful expressions of affection, cards which their artists drew, flowers: Max Fulcher, Vic Mahoney, Theo Woods, Sue Lawrence, Betty Wilson and so on; four girls doing her work while she was away (so they encouraged her) and the red carpet out when she returned in September.  It wasn’t just show: for years later they remembered her, wrote to her at Christmas, invited her to parties.  And there was a beautiful floral tribute when she died, from Brian Bona and Max Fulcher, even though the firm had folded up by then.

The loveliest tribute is the simplest one; Lynne Amanda Gee’s little poems say it all:

Christmas 1971

To my Dear Mrs. Butler,

Thank you for all the happiness you’ve brought me through the year,

You bring me lots of everything – like happiness and cheer,

Whenever there’s a problem and I’m away from home,

You always help me out with it, and never leave me alone,

You’re warm, funny and friendly and really nice to be near,

So I wish you many joyous days, for now and the coming years.

Tons & Tons of Love,

From your little switch girl

Lynne Amanda Gee

There once was a nice little switch lady,

Who was always nice to people,

She had a nice nature,

So no-one could hate her,

She’d laugh and she’d smile,

ALWAYS – not just a while,

It’s a pleasure to be with her,

The friendliness she gives,

OH Boy!  I’M glad she lives.

L.A. Gee

Miss Coburn had taught her well those many years before: she took the lessons she learnt to heart and applied them with all the solid values ingrained in her by her mother.  Honor was a true Cant, in the mould of her cousins.  Her notes concerning switchboard manners are succinct and common sense and well worth repeating:

A switchboard is the FRONT DOOR to a business and it is important to treat each and every call as important and urgent.  Messages are important.  Do not keep people waiting, without going back and apologising etc. or getting the person they are calling to phone them back.

Be at all time courteous and obliging.

No slang

Ask for the name of the person who is speaking – for Directors, all executives etc. and say when connected.

Be prepared for people entering to be attended to in a bright manner.  Try to learn a personal attentive manner to all – at ALL times.

1975 was a bad year for Honor: it was twelve months in and out of hospitals including Saint John of God,Burwood and culminating in a long spell at Mount Saint Margaret’s, Ryde.  I can only say that it was love that pulled her through.  She spent the next few years quietly at Neutral Bay, but was never the same again.  She visited Gladys every week in the Loreto Nursing Home at Strathfield, enjoyed the company of her old friends and cousins, went to the opera with me – we grew very close in those years.

Gladys died in 1979 and 1981 Honor decided to go to Western Australia at last.  It  was an unfortunate move, made with some bitterness in her heart and perhaps    some misunderstanding – she would never discuss it.  Understandable as it might be in the circumstances, she did some sad things in moving: gave away old family treasures (the word is relative), split up the bedroom suite, retrieving twenty-four dollars for what was priceless.

Her time, in Mandurah was mercifully short – she was dead within two years. She died quietly and, like her husband, alone: she was found next morning.  The two years were full of bitter herbs and salt tears, and she did not know a moment’s happiness. It was not a fitting end for this woman and it was not deserved: she had been too personally good and too personally giving for that.  If she had a fault it was that she bottled up her feelings, including her love, so she could not receive love in return.  She gave till it hurt and the hurting destroyed her at last.  I can only conclude her life in the words I spoke at her funeral in Mandurah, 8 September 1983, at which there were two dozen acquaintances from the Day Care Centre, all her children and grandchildren and, as at her husband’s funeral, a scattering of the Marist Brothers she had grown to love deeply: Br Alexis Turton, a close friend of mine, and several elderly Brothers from the Melbourne Province, who were holidaying a little south of Mandurah.

Now is the time to praise good women.

Most of you have come to know Mum only recently, and saw much less of a happy, capable woman than we knew.

She was christened Honor Delores.  For years I spelt her second name Dolores presuming some connection with the word of sorrow in Latin.  Somehow it seemed apt, for she had a lot of sorrow in her life: and a less than happy marriage, bringing up three children on her own, closing herself off from remarrying after Dad died in 1959.  “I have no man appeal” she used to say, little realising what an attractive, intuitive, capable good woman she was.  She lost herself in her work – she was a superb receptionist – and she centred her life on her mother.

She was a woman of exquisite taste: she loved good cut glass, fine linen, her cedar china cabinet and a magnificent walnut bedroom suite.  She let lot of these things go, because she felt she had been abandoned by others.  What she could not see was that so many people tried to support her: her family, the Marist Brothers, her friends in Sydney, and latterly here in W.A.  She loved good paintings; she loved opera – “I don’t know as much as you do about it, dear, but I thought Sutherland was not quite her best tonight” – and she’d be right.

She loved people, and I have often seen her the centre of attention and attraction at parties.  A lot of my ex-students used to comment on her wit, and the interest she took in people; and she could hold up her head amongst all manner of folk.

She was a fussy woman: I remembered how she abhorred ice in her drinks!    And how much she liked finely cut lettuce.

She was a woman of great value, who never appreciated her value.  She loved the Marists, who loved her equally well.  She centred her life on her children and tried hard not to grasp.  It was hard for her to let us go, and I think the effort to do so cost her her life, for she died of a broken heart.  “I’ve done the wrong thing” she chorused even to the last time I spoke to her.

She never knew her own potential in life: sad, but true, to say it is only now in eternal life with the God who created her beautiful self, that she will realise what a beautiful person she was.

Mandurah, W.A., 8 September, 1983

CHAPTER TEN

LILLIAN GLADYS CANT

Proverbs‘ Valiant Woman

“Who shall find a valiant woman?

Far and from the uttermost coasts is the price of her.”

(Proverbs 31:10 – Douay)

The first born child of William Cant and Anne Wessler was Lillian Gladys.  Her birth and death certificates give her name as Lillian Gladys, but she called herself Gladys and came to be called Gladys.  She was born 9 December 1889 at Lithgow Street, Goulburn,’ her parents having been married but two days earlier.

Her first four or five years were spent in Goulburn, Stella being born in Mundy Street, Goulburn in 1893, but there must have been a move to Morundah near Narrandera, for that i s where Anne Cant died in October 1895, leaving a husband of twenty eight with three children of six, three and two years of age.  It is easy to understand why William Cant remarried the following June: a wife to his bed and a mother to his children, he being on the move from place to place with his railway work.

William Cant met Sarah Grieves in Jerilderie, but their wedding took place in Goulburn.  The children may well have been at Goulburn, perhaps with William’s parents.  The next we know of the family is that they are in Cootamundra where William junior was born in 1897.  There seems to have been a more permanent move back to Jerilderie for some years: Clarence was born there in 1901 and Mildred (Molly) in 1904.  Sarah Grieves was not one for continuous pregnancy.  It was at Jerilderie that Francis made his first Communion in 1905 and was confirmed in 1906.  At this time Gladys was almost seventeen and close to leaving home.

Gladys seems never to have got over the early death of her mother: she spoke of her with affection and sadness, though she could have remembered little of her, being only six when her mother died.  Her memories were no doubt heightened by her lack of fondness for her step-mother.  It was only a few years before her own death that she told us her mother had been adopted.  My mother and I were simply stunned, because this news had been untold for so long – like the existence of her youngest step-sister, Molly.  At the same time Gladys gave me a photo of her mother, a fine looking woman, if a little severe, with drawn-back hair and penetrating eyes.  For me, the mystery of her background is strengthened by the distinctly aboriginal cast of the face.  I still recall Doug’s reaction to seeing the photograph (as if for the first time) the day of Galdys’s funeral: “Ah,” he said, “a touch of the tar-brush there!”

In some ways Gladys became mother to the family, more so in later days when so many people looked to her for support and attention.  Perhaps she was compensating for the difficult times she had with her step-mother.  What those difficult times consisted in is not clear, but she left a strong impression that she did not get on well with Sarah Grieves, who, she thought, treated her with less justice than a step-daughter deserved.  The story of the late music examination fee symbolises all that was ill in those far-off days of Gladys’s youth.

Nevertheless Gladys must have had a sound education: she was a beautiful writer and had a head full of all those sorts of things that primary education used to insist on.  Besides,she was obviously well enough qualified to become a tutor to several private families.  It seems that she taught the children of several families for some months when application was made for her to become the teacher of a subsidised school in South Yalgogrin.  The relevant Act stated that “In very thinly populated localities where a private teacher is engaged by two or more families in combination, such teacher, if approved by the Minister, may be paid subsidy at a rate not exceeding Five Pounds per pupil per annum on the average monthly attendance….” etc., etc.

In a letter of 4 August 1908 signed by P. Board, Under Secretary of the Department of Public Instruction, addressed to Mr. V. Norris, c/- E. Pope, Esquire, South Yalgogrin Narrandera, we read:

Sir, Referring to the application dated 20th ultimo endorsed by you and Mrs. B. Goodwin, from Miss Gladys Cant, for the position of Teacher of the Subsidised School at South Yalgogrin, I am directed to inform you that the Minister of Public Instruction has approved of Miss Cant being recognised by this Department as Teacher of the above school.

Payment of subsidy to Miss Cant will take effect from the date of her entry on duty, provided that she then taught the children of the two families.  Copies of the regulations . . . are forwarded . . .

From an extant account, she received for the period of 23 June to 31 July 1908, for teaching an average of ten pupils per day, the splendid sum of Five Pounds, four shillings.  She was to teach there for eighteen months, till December 1909.

Her elegant Composition Book is inscribed with several places and dates: “Rosemead, Easter 1908″, and “Melrose Valley via Condobolin [written back to front] “15 April 1909″.  Her composition book probably served as a lesson notes to be copied onto the blackboard or dictated.  The writing of the eighteen year old girl is firm, mature, impressive – so indicative of her character – and of a style that did not change even till the last time she signed her name.

“Salt”, she writes,  “is a mineral. There are three kinds of salt . . “  “Water is a liquid because it takes the shape of the vessel that holds it . . .”  Clouds: “It is pleasant to watch the clouds and observe their different shapes and colours”.  Flax, sugar, air, are all written up for the children to learn.  There are poems and proverbs too: “A bad workman quarrels with his tools”, and “To labour is to pray”.  These simple lessons were taken to heart – she was a woman who practised what she preached.  There are CXIV pages of notes and poems, the last one being dated 17 December 1909.  She was married 16 February 1910, and the next few pages of the book are used to write recipes for soap, yeast, ginger cordial, hop beer, linoleum cream and furniture polish.  This is the “valiant woman” of the “Book of Proverbs”.

In 1908 the family was living at Yass Junction and remained there till 1914 when they moved to Granville.  Gladys had left home to make her own life and marriage, but in some ways she never left because she always kept contact through letters and visits and retelling of stories: the Cant family was our family in a very real way.  Everybody returned.  Doug even bicycled from Darlinghurst to Granville to visit the famiily at Granville.

Many of the postcards are still in existence: Stella left behind a whole album full which I found at her daughter Jacqueline’s Glenview Street house.  They are an invaluable insight into these few years of Gladys’s life.  There were nineteen written by Gladys between 23 July 1908 and 18 March 1920, fifteen to Stella, the others to Will, “Mater” and her father.  They reveal something of the woman behind them, but also indicate how much she hid: talk about the weather and things she did, but most of all requests for letters in return – she was quite bossy in her requests, yearning, it seems, for family contact.

The first four postcards from Gladys to Stella are addressed “c/- E. Pope Esquire”: Gladys was living with the Pope family at South Yalgogrin.  “It is raining”, she writes, 23 July 1908, “but the grass is only fair”.  She did not get “either” of Stella’s postcards till the previous Monday, and “don’t forget to answer by return of post.  Love to all at home”.  The postcard features a pretty ribbon arrangement of the name Kitty – Kathleen was Stella’s first name.

“Dear Mater” is the recipient of the second card, 20 October 1908.  It is “just a line or two in haste hoping to find you all well as this leaves me at present”.  No time to write, shall do so, all is well, enjoy your holidays.  “I remain Yours in haste, Gladys”, and a coloured view of the Ocean Beach, Manly.  Keeping in touch, dutifully!  Mater is a very formal address to her step-mother (and a word that I would not have expected Gladys to use, it being so “English”) but it may have been a family usage: her aunt, Mary Hunter, her father’s sister, uses it in her correspondence.

Stella’s card arrives and is welcome, 3 November 1908, but “I notice you don’t forget to keep me waiting long enough for an answer.  Mind I want an answer in a week”.  Seven weeks to Xmas, lovely weather, would like to be back at Yass.  The postcard shows the facade of Sydney University, and a note is added: “. . . this is the best I have so you will have to do with it”.  A touch curt.

There is a lengthy card on 15 December 1908.  She will not be home on Saturday, “tell the Mater” in that expression so uncharacteristic of Gladys, but then it keeps a suitable distance from Sarah Cant.  She is to close the school on Wednesday, go to Kildary till Saturday and return home on Monday.  The weather is very hot.  “I shot an iguana on Sunday and wounded a crow” – it is hard to imagine her with a rifle in her hands, let alone killing anything.  This is the third or fourth postcard she has sent and “got no answer, but wait till I come home, you will pay the penalty.  And p.s.: W.F. wrote to me last Sunday.  Is D.R. still at Yass”.

In the new year she moved to West Wyalong, c/- Mrs. J. King, Stony Flat.  It is not so close to the South Yalgogrin Subsidised School.  She arrives safely and “met two or three I knew, they were very glad to see me back”.  There is news of Mr. & Mrs. Goodwin whom she had stayed with in Kildary, of Mrs. Hartigan and Lillie O’Connell.  She saw Mother Philomena who “wishes to be remembered to you”, and “says you ought to go back to school”.  Mother Philomena must have taught the Cant girls in Goulburn and kept that typical interest in them that Sisters do.  An urgent message: “Write very soon please”.

The twenty year old girl is lonely and as anxious for news as she is full of it: Fred and Mona, her aunt Mary’s children, have the fever badly, she writes 23 February 1909.  She has had a letter from Aunt Mary (Mrs John Hunter, her father’s younger sister).  She has not had one from Stella and “though you say you sent one I can safely say that I did not receive it.  I was vexed to think you did not have the good manners to answer my p. card, but if you sent one, it must have gone astray.  I suppose I will forgive you this time”. She won’t be home for Easter.  There has been lovely rain.

This postcard  could not have had another word written on it; it is packed with news and concludes: “Son Hall sent me his photo, so did Jack”.  Son Hall was a cousin:  Aunt Sarah Cant married James Hall.  Love is in the air: Jack was undoubtedly the man she was to marry twelve months later, John James Whittaker; and at this time Stella was probably seeing Charles Murray, for her son Jack Cant was to be born the next December.

The next couple of letters become a little more agitated in tone.  She writes, 27 March 1909: “Are you going to the Yass show?  Have you any exhibits.  I did not like the p.card you sent.  Why did the boys not have the good manners to answer theirs.  I am going to a coffee supper on 5th April, if I am alive and well . . . Excuse scribble as I am very tired and in a hurry”.  And in the p.s.: “What was the dance like.  I hope you did not go to it.  I am not going down at Easter, it is too far.  Write soon and tell the boys to do so, too, please”.

The wider family is obviously important to her: Maud and Ciss, who were Uncle Martin’s daughters; Aunt Mary’s Fred and Mona, this one, that one.

In June 1909 Gladys is writing c/- Mrs. J. Whittaker, Melrose Valley via Condobolin.  This lady is soon to become her mother-in-law.  She is enjoying “the best of health”, she writes 22 June.  “This is one of the Condobolin photos. What do you think of it?  The winter so far has been beautifully mild.  Has the excitement about the Federal City died out in Yass?  I am glad the Mater has taken a holiday. Which of the Cants do you have visiting you?  I have no news to tell you as you are not interested in anyone or anything about here”.  A little brusque – what has happened?  Even her new-found love – for by this stage she must be getting serious about John James – does not ease the trouble.  She concludes: “Give my love to all”, adds “yourself included” and finished coolly “Yrs. respect.  Gladys”.

Her card of 28 September seems a mixture of excitement at her own situation and chagrin at Stella’s taciturnity.  Stella’s card was very welcome and very pretty and “you will think I am a very long time answering it.  I have not had much time”.  Mrs Whittaker had been away in Parkes for eleven weeks with a bad leg.  Gladys was in town at show time, and had been to the Vermont Hill Hospital picnic.  There was a ball that night, “but I did not stay for it.  Dancing is not in my line these days”.  Has Stella been to any amusements lately: “When you write to me you tell me nothing I ask you.  Why don’t you answer any question I ask you?  One would think I did not know anyone about there.  This is all the news this time, so don’t forget to write soon and let me know all.  I remain Yours truly Gladys”.

By the end of October Gladys is probably pregnant with her daughter to be born in July 1910, so the cards over the previous month or two may reflect something of the tensions in her life at that stage

Gladys sent cards to young Will also, and several have survived.  An unaddressed card dated 8 November 1909 reads: “Dear Will, [now aged twelve and a half] Just a few lines in the hope of finding you in the best of health. How are you getting on at school?  I will send you a real nice p.card next time.  This is the only blank one I have.  Write soon.  Love from Gladys.  Tell Molly and Clarrie to write to me”.  Clarrie and Molly were every bit of eight and five years old!  Gladys had written twelve months previously, December 1908, “How is your arm?” she asks.  “I should not send you a p.c. you did not answer the last one I sent you.  Are you having a concert at Christmas.  If so are you in it?”  The December date is conjecture based on evidence from the following letters of Mary Hunter to Stella.  None of them are dated, but the reference to Mona and Fred’s illness also referred to in a dated letter of Gladys, gives us the clue; and other evidence suggests the dates December 1908 to February 1909.

Aunt Mary seems a lovely lady – all care and a touch of fluster; not quite refined but very good natured.  It is said that when she did not have enough washing to make a good impression, she would add sheets and pillows cases from the cupboard to make up a line full.  When she refers to William and Sarah Cant in her letters to Stella she calls them “Pater” and “Mater” – not an Australianism, so it was probably picked up from her English father, Francis.  There are five postcards to Stella in this period and they are very homely: ‘Miss Stella Cant, c/- Mr. William Cant, Ganger, Yass Junction.  Wishing you all a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year with best love from all to all.  M. Hunter” for Christmas 1908.

And within a few weeks, probably after Christmas: a Happy New Year and we will be pleased to see Gladys at any time.  Did not know anything about William breaking his arm”.  Before the end of January she writes: “I hope all the people got home alright and enjoyed themselves at Cooma and Sydney.  I suppose Gladys will soon be leaving again for school.”

By mid-February two of her children, Mona and Fred, have the fever, she “a hundred and two yesterday and Fred was 107 on Monday.  Give our best love to your Mater and Pater and all the family.  I had one letter from Gladys since she went back.”  In early March Mona and Fred are improving, “The Dr. said they are going as the general run of fever cases.  Mona and Fred has [sic] had their hair cut off.  We are very sorry to see [it] coming off . . . How is Willie’s arm getting on?”  Her husband, Jack, visits Sarah and William Cant in Yass at this time.  Mary writes: “Tell your mother I cannot thank her enough for her kindness to Jack.  Well the children are just as well as can be expected.  It is such a lingering illness.  They only take boiling water and milk and talk about been [sic] thin.  They are something terrible.  If you are writing to Uncle Martin tell him about them but don’t say I told you.”  Very curious!

The last we hear of Will’s arm is in a letter from Stella dated Yass Junction, 21 — 1909, obviously January or February.  ”Mrs J.Hunter, Reynold Street, North Goulburn, NSW s.a.g.  Dear Aunty Mary, I sent you a P.C. last Tuesday and have not yet received an answer, but I think it must have gone astray because I only addressed it to Goulburn.  The doctor said he cannot do Willie’s arm any good now.  Write soon and let me know how Mona and Fred [are].  Love from Stella.  (s.a.g was a pious Catholic custom – Saint Anthony guide – just in case the Post-Master General failed in his duty.)

The last of Mary Hunter’s letters that we have could have been written at any time: “Dear Brother and Sister”, she writes to William and Sarah Cant, “Uncle Abraham’s Sarah has been down here for a holiday and is going home on the mail train Wednesday morning.  I thought you would like to see her, she would like to see you both . . .”  Abraham Cant, who married Catherine Martineau, had thirteen children; the lived originally at Dingo Creek and later moved to Carcoar.

We next hear from Gladys in Sydney: there are two postcards dated 4 January 1910, one to Stella and one to her father.  Things have moved quickly.  There is no indication in the letters of any excitement or special news; she is simply in Sydney, on holiday, seeing the sights, with Mrs Whittaker (a lady of fifty) – and, if we read between the lines, a friend.  The friend must be her soon-to-be husband, the handsome John James Whittaker.

She says to Stella: “I am having a bit of a holiday.  Will be home next week.  Might bring a friend with me.”  And to her father she writes, c/- Mrs C.W.Brown, “Kerribree”, Hereford St Glebe Point: “You will be surprised to hear of me being in Sydney.  I came down with Mrs Whittaker.  She is going home early next week, so I will go home then.  Will you be willing for me to bring a friend home with me . . . They will only stay a few days”.  Convenient and ambiguous “they”!

“They” had come down from Condobolin on Sunday morning.  They went to St. Andrew’s on Sunday night – the Anglican Cathedral where John James’s father had been christened in December 1848.    On the Monday night they went “down to the Quay and out to Callan Park”.  The Callan Park visit was not out of mere sight-seeing curiosity: they visited Mr John Whittaker there, for that is where he died in July of that year.

They went to “the moving pictures” and were to go to Manly that day, “not coming home till the last boat”.  On Saturday they were to go up to the Hawkesbury Bridge.  “So you can see”, she concludes, “we are having a good time”.  It was probably the best holiday Gladys ever had.  The friendship with John James included more than sight-seeing: Gladys at this stage was more than two months pregnant (unless Honor was born prematurely).  No doubt it was at this time that John James bought her the exquisite engagement ring: three sapphires and two diamonds set into a plain arched band of gold incised with several simple scrolls.  It is utterly simple.  I wear the ring now, and it will be passed down eventually.

Gladys and John James Whittaker were married 16th February 1910 at St. Augustine’s Church, Yass, her family’s homeplace: he was thirty one and a handsome man, she was twenty and winsome.  The wedding must have been a family affair because William Cant had given his consent, Stella was a witness if not a bridesmaid, and the wedding photo is a work of art.  A hand painted photograph cut out and pasted between sheets of glass, with a painted background to give a three dimensional effect – all in an oval frame.  The wedding dress was elegant, high-necked and embroidered, and John looked splendid in a dark suit and patterned waistcoat: it was no slap-dash affair.

All of that makes it very hard to understand Gladys’s next letter to Stella.  Dated 26th April 1910, it begins: “You know my address . . . I have not been too well lately. Jack is having fairly good health”.  She goes on to say: “I wrote to Mrs. Lang and sent a letter for you in with hers.  If I write your letter to Yass Post Office, would you be able to get them.  Let me know as I want to send the photos to you if I can.  If you can’t get them from Yass let me know and I will send them c/- Mrs. Lang.  Jack is going to write soon”.  She concludes: “Hope this has more luck than the others”.

There was no address, to or from, on the card.  The most intriguing thing is that the writing is back to front: hold it up to a mirror and the writing is perfectly legible.  It was an art Gladys had cultivated: there is a small example of it in the Composition Book.  But why all this secrecy?  Gladys’s marriage was not a complete surprise to the family; there was a month’s warning; the events surrounding the wedding seem normal enough.  Did the early pregnancy worry them?  It may have been an embarrassment before the straight-laced Sarah Cant, though William Cant and Anne Wessler’s marriage was just in the nick of time: two days between their marriage and Gladys’s birth.  Maybe Stella was out of favour over the birth of Jack Cant out of wedlock; but yet she was a witness to Gladys’s wedding.  Whatever the cause, the back to front writing is fascinating – and very skilful.

And the cause may well have been both those matters: Jacqueline was to tell me 11 November 1986, after this story had been originally written, printed and distributed, that her mother, Stella, was indeed out of favour: she had to seek refuge in the later stages of her pregnancy or perhaps after Jack Cant’s birth, 16 December, 1909, at the Salvation Army Home at Marrickville.  Sarah Cant must have been mortified at the untoward pregnancies of her two step-daughters.  One can only imagine the to-do, especially if her husband himself had married a part-Aboriginal girl and took her to the altar a mere two days before she gave birth to their child!  But then it is all too easy to paint Sarah in a poor light, for she cannot speak for herself; and it is to her eternal credit that she was prepared to rear the children in the faith of their father.

Gladys’s postcard of 21 June 1910 is the last one for six years, and things seem to have returned to normal.  Stella is again at Yass Junction, “Jack and I are in good health at the moment” (though she is a month away from her confinement).  The weather is beautiful; Yass is very cold – though the winter has not been a cold one; any news of the Cants in Cooma?  Condobolin show will be held in August this year.  “Jack is going to write every day, but he keeps putting it off” – and Gladys is getting to know the man she married!

Gladys and Jack’s two children were born fairly close together: Honor Delores Frances was born at Condobolin 16 July 1910, and Douglas John 8 March 1912.  Life must have been hard for Gladys, but she was tough and certainly not afraid of hard work.  I suspect that she had to work to make ends meet: John James had no trade or profession, having worked with teams of horses at an early age and being involved with timber getting.  In one of her letters she refers to him “ploughing his crop” (26 April 1910) and on Honor’s birth certificate he is described as a carrier.  I know from Doug that at some time the family was living in a tent in the bush and their was trouble with biting camels and mischievous horses.  Doug says he was born in Cowra “at the foot of Billygoat Hill”, (which I discovered to be where the hospital is!).  But whatever the sequence of events, the family were back in Condobolin in 1916.

Her letter of llth November 1916 is written from Orange Lane, Condobolin.  Its glancing reference to World War One is touching,  and the letter also shows her devotion to Stella:

I am writing once more to let you know I got the parcel safely yesterday evening.  What a long time it took to come.  I will try to have your skirt done and sent back by Tuesday.  I was surprised when I saw the length of the tear.  I imagined it to be something like the others but I will fix it up for you.  Send along anything you want done.  I will gladly do it for you. I must thank you for the nighty [sic] and the camisole.  They are very nice and won’t take me very long to work them.  I must try to have them done before Xmas if possible.  The fur is very nice now and so are the photos. They are very like you. Mrs Mc says the one of the bust is just what you looked like the day you were

dancing around with “Bimbi”.  [This is probably a nickname for John Sivyer whom Stella was to marry in 1919 - he was born in Bimbi.]  I have a terribly bad headache today.  I can scarcely see to write.  Did you get two letters this week?  I sent a short one on Tuesday and a long one on Thursday.  I have to scrub the kitchen and back verandah now, then go to the train with this.  I have to go to my lesson at 2.30 today.  I went yesterday but they were entertaining someone at afternoon tea.  Twenty boys are going away today.  I will be able to see them off, won’t I.  No more.  Love from Gladys.

What lesson was it?  Whose place was she scrubbing?  Did she know any of those boys, who were going off to the War?  Where are Jack and the children?  And how anxious she is to do that sewing for Stella.  Gladys’s needle work was beautiful and she tried to pass on her skills.

Another undated letter to Stella from Condobolin refers to the dust storms every day.  She asks after Jack – either Jack Sivyer whom Stella was to marry in 1919, or young Jack Cant. Gladys feels the heat – “it was frightfully hot . . I thought I would peg out [now, that is a Gladys phrase!] “.  She keeps working for her sister: “. . . . I sent you your coat today,” she writes in another card.  “I could not do it any better because there was not enough material.  I think that had Mrs. Smith [the former Mrs. Whittaker, who married William Smith in 1919] not joined the pieces I could not possibly have got it at all”.  It is addressed, as is the last card, “My darling sister”.

The last card we have from Gladys to Stella is dated 18 March 1920 and was sent from Condobolin.  It tells us a number of interesting things.  “My darling sister,” it begins,

Just a few lines to let you know that I am still alive and doing well.  I get very good health now.  I only hope it lasts.  I have no intention of going under the operation just yet.  When I tell you I have my boarders back you will know how I am.  They were very pleased to be able to return.  They did not care about McInnes.  Jack is on Wright Heaton’s lorry this week.  Mr. Byron is very ill.  They are going to take him to Sydney.  I suppose you have quite settled down in your new home.  I guess Jack had everything in apple pie order and was pleased to get you home.  Did you go out to Granville when you were in Sydney?  We have had some awful dust storms.  How do you feel after your holiday? I suppose you miss being at Katoomba.  Fancy Jack (“The Greek”) being down here.  Peter is trying to sell out. Well dear I must close.  Long letter next time.  Love to you and Jack from Gladys.

She ran a boarding house called Myra cottage – in Denison Street, I think – in Condobolin for some years, and it was to become a bone of contention: John James was inclined to jealousy.  Stella was now married to Jack Sivyer, reputedly a fastidious man who was bound to have everything “in apple pie order”.  The holiday at Katoomba is beautifully captured in a photo of Stella and some friends below a waterfall.  The reference to “Jack ‘The Greek’ ” is intriguing, but obscure, and uncharacteristic of Gladys.

The Cant family had moved to Sydney by 1914 to provide opportunities for the younger children.  The next Easter Gladys’s favourite brother, Frank, died; but there are no extant letters with any reference to the death.  I wonder whether she travelled to Sydney for the funeral.

The last card in this fascinating pack is as unexpected as it is vague: unsigned, even the addressee’s name is incomplete – “Mrs. J. J. Whitta–” – and a scrap of verse which speaks for itself:

Though far away Dearest I’ll never forget

The love I have borne since the moment we meet

Though smiling I mingle

In throngs of the gay

And I silently pray that a blessing may rest

Everything points to John James, and my sister says the writing is his.

On that happy note we leave Condobolin.  It was 1926.  Gladys had been running a boarding house for eight or nine years.  The children were growing up.  Gladys was thirty seven, Jack forty six, and he looks every bit of it from a photograph taken about that time of a group of boarders on the front steps of Myra Cottage: he is there with Gladys and Honor.  The youthful good looks have faded; the prospects               of employment for the children were unpromising; Jack was jealous of Gladys with the boarders, and he was probably not all that close to the family, the romance of 1909 having long since passed. Gladys was the centre that held the family together and she decided it was time to move to Sydney.

The decision having being made and everything packed, Jack could not make up his mind.  Gladys and the children went; Jack and most, but not all, of the goods followed.  How much of what was valued and treasured has been lost in the many moves that the family has made.  in more recent years it was to be expensive cut glass and a bedroom suites hand made and French polished by Malcolm George and friends, Japanese dolls and a Japanese ceremonial sword, among many other valuables.

The Sydney sojourn begins at 28 Gosbell Street, Paddington: J. Whittaker is listed at that address in the 1927 Sands Directory.  Honor goes to Business College and Douglas to the Christian Brothers’ School next to Sacred Heart Church, Darlinghurst, and their story is told in its place.  Gladys must have taken on many jobs, mainly cleaning, but I am unaware of the nature of them during the 1930s.  Soon after Jack arrived he became involved in a garage business in Boundary Street, Paddington, between Campbell and Coombe Streets.  It was not a success by all accounts, and was eventually to be burnt out.  He was to take up work with a vacuum cleaner in time and saw out his working days in the homes of various folk around Paddington, setting off in the mornings with his cleaner strapped to his back.  But this is Gladys’s chapter.

In 1933 or thereabouts the family moved to 43 Boundary Street and it is here that we take up the thread of Gladys’s life, after her children have married, in the 1940s.  Gladys was a good business woman and invested in properties.  She owned the Boundary Street house and she had properties at Manly Vale and in the Blue Mountains.  She made no money, to speak of, from them.  She was a hard working woman for whom hard work was second nature.  When I became aware of her in the 1940s as a youngster I was awed by the amount of work she did.

She began working at Bathurst House in Castlereagh Street, next to the Fire Station, in 1929, according to a reference dated 15 June 1933, from Ernest Steele, the long-time caretaker and friend.  He says that “Mrs.  Whittaker has employed by me at the [Bathurst House] address for the last four years”.  She is “straightforward, honest and a very good worker . . . who holds the respect of myself and every tenant in the building”.

Gladys must have been applying for some new job, maybe at the A.N.Z., for there are several references written in the month of June 1933 from, besides Ernest Steele, F.W. Marlin of the Condobolin Steam Saw and Planing Mills (he gives her address as 43 Boundary Street), Thos. B.Watson, Universal Providers, Condobolin, from B.J. Dunphy the Shire Clerk of the Lachlan Shire Council, and from Hon.  H. C. Moulder M.L.C.  They all attest to her good character, “very honest and trustworthy, a fine citizen of Condobolin whom we could ill afford to lose (and her family were like her goodself), a woman of splendid character, a good Mother bringing up her two children in the manner that reflects the greatest credit on her, respected citizen of the town, capable, energetic, highly recommended”.  They certainly reflected the woman we came to love as our grandmother.

She was up at four or five o’clock in the morning and would go to the city, often enough on foot, and work at cleaning during the day.  She would clean and polish the A.N.Z. Bank in Bathurst Street, between Castlereagh and Pitt Streets (since moved to the north-western corner of Castlereagh and Bathurst Streets) and be finished before the bank opened.

Then it was to Bathurst House, where she cleaned a number of showrooms in that building.  She worked for such names as Pankhurst who sold buttons, for Paynes who sold glassware and crockery – she found her niece Yvonne her first job there -  and McGillvrays who sold Rondon shoes, and whose son Allan became the well known cricket commentator.  Those floors and corridors were spotless and she did them by hand: she could never manage the electric polisher which got away on her, so she went up and down with a padded broom weighted with lead.  The employers treated her with respect and affection and a touch of reverence.

On a number of days a week when she had finished at Bathurst House it was off to the Pickwick Club in Pitt Street near Hunter Street where she was employed to make hors d’oeuvres – savouries we used to call them.  None of your Jatz crackers and French Onion dip: this woman started from scratch.  Fancy shapes of bread cut out by hand, deep fried and drained, special toppings made – cream cheese (at home it was made several days before a big function and hung up in muslin to drip, out in the lean-to which was the laundry), gherkins, anchovies, coloured pickled onions, sliced and curried boiled egg, and the inevitable paprika.  She worked for hours on these concoctions.  And there must have been cleaning involved because she sometimes arrived home at midnight, having to face another rising at four.  On a bad night she would also be faced at that late hour with Jack, “dying” yet again, who had to be taken to Dr Waddy in Darlinghurst Road or to St. Vincent’s Hospital.  Jack was always dying.

Her hours seemed long, and while there is always danger of romanticising those we admire, she certainly did rise at that early hour, and on many nights, though not all, she arrived home very late.  This went on during the ‘Forties and ‘Fifties and into the early ‘Sixties.  Even when the family moved to Elanora Heights in 1957 she walked the three miles from home to Narrabeen to catch the six o’clock bus into the city to continue her cleaning jobs.

She retired from the A.N.Z. Bank early in 1960.  A letter from the manager, 16 March 1960, says “we will all miss your cheerful good morning as we come to the day’s toil.  I would like you to know how I personally appreciate the way you looked after and kept the premises and especially the way you always had my room spick and span and ready for me.  The Chief Manager also desires me to convey to you the Bank’s appreciation for your long and faithful service”.  She received £141/10/11 for Long Service Leave and pay in lieu of holiday leave: the 11 pence mattered in those days.

A hiatus hernia and prolapsed uterus put her in Royal North Shore Hospital and an end to her working days.  She was over seventy when she finally retired: it would have been a brave employer, a foolhardy union or a stubborn government who told her that women retired at sixty.

In 1964 she had an operation on her eye to repair a detached retina.  It was unsuccessful.  She sent a Ten Pound donation to the Convalescent Hospital at Concord, and the Matron replied: “We were as disappointed as you were that the operation was not a success.  You certainly did your part, you were such a good patient”.

The woman was meticulous in her duties and we were taught in the same way.  Corners were for cleaning in, starch was for being made by hand and having a beeswax candle to stir it – that gave a shine to the finish and I can still see the candle that was always used, tapering down to a slim end where it had been melted away.  Sponge cakes were made with perfectly creamed butter and sugar – how we hated that, and no Mix-Masters allowed.  I once tramped Taylor Square and Kings Cross for pimento only to be sent back a third time because she had meant paprika all the time.  You didn’t dare complain that it was her mistake – she didn’t make mistakes!  I carried trays of savouries – now you know how they were made, every one with attention to detail and with threats – up Liverpool Street to the Marist Brothers’ High School on Darlinghurst Hill, with her imprecations ringing in my ears: “You drop one and I’ll skin you alive”.  I was eleven and much as I loved her, I believed her.  I once hid in the toilet from her and was so afraid she would bash the door in that I meekly gave myself up.  This same fearsome woman also bought me a picture of the Sacred Heart, an oil lamp and a supply of mineral oil to burn before it, much to my father’s amazement and the accompaniment of smoking wicks.  She may have seen something in me at that time that I did not realise.

She was the valiant Woman of Proverbs: she sought out linens and worked them, she made waistcoats and doll’s bedspreads; she brought food from afar and cooked it magnificently; she rose in the night and attended the household – her husband, or on one occasion rushing me to St. Vincent’s when I’d cut my finger badly while preparing supper for the Misses McNulty.  She laid her hand to the spindle and the distaff, and sometimes to our bottoms; all her household was well clothed in good garments; her husband was known in the gates when he sat with the elders of the land, and she did not quite approve.

Strength and honour were her clothing, she opened her mouth with wisdom and on her tongue was the law of kindness.  Her employers and those who knew her as a friend had tremendous respect for her, because she was an honest woman for whom the job was a sacred task.  Socially speaking we were ordinary middle class in those days, but Gladys could hold up her head in any company.  On one occasion she held a party at Boundary Street for the Pankhursts who were wealthy enough to have an apartment at Gowry Gate in Macleay Street, Potts Point.  It was a pre-Christmas function and Gladys prepared everythig for it, with our help, of course, though we children were not permitted at the table.  I remember bringing in the champagne in an old aluminium bucket – they had the grace to laugh and I got away with it, even after the guests had departed..

Her brothers and sisters and nieces seemed to look to her, for support: she seemed to be the centre of the family.  She could wring out sheets for Jacqueline if her wrists were too weak to manage, she would encourage Clarry to have a twenty-first birthday for his daughter; she would make cups of tea for Jack Cant when he arrived somewhat the worse for drink.  Her own daughter felt she took second place to these people when their needs seemed greater.  That was Gladys – if other needed it, she gave, and we gave too, not because she did not care for us, but because that was simply the right thing to do.  Of course this left a number of people feeling neglected or overlooked, but in the long run we were better people for it.

We missed out on nothing.  When I went to Bowral and Mittagong with the Marist Brothers, the family, having been to early Mass at Sacred Heart, would arrive six or seven  times a year by train or bus, laden with food and cakes and gifts, and spend the day with this youngster who wanted to be a Brother.  Gladys was always there with the support of her love and prayer and cooking.

She was a holy woman, not in any showy way but with a quiet, humble, almost puritanical, piety.  She was a devoted Catholic and brought up her children to be the same, while her husband could not be said to be a religious man.  Sunday Mass was a happy obligation which she would neglect at the peril of her soul, yet she never went to Holy Communion – some Jansenistic streak in her which would not allow her to approach the Blessed Sacrament until very late in her life.  She was always devoted to the novena to our Lady on Saturday nights: we all went, whether we liked it or not, though sometimes our father would put his foot down and say we weren”t to go – but he would soften and we would rush out, probably just for relief from the tension in the house.

In the early ‘fifties, Gladys and Honor bought two pieces of land at Elanora Heights.  We had been living in 41 and 43 Boundary Street, Gladys having moved into 43 when our family moved back into 41 in 1946: there was news that a freeway would go through the property so we sold and moved to Elanora Heights.  The Kings, the Golds and the Restuccias stayed, even till quite recently; the houses are still there, the freeway yet to come.

The new house at 33 Coolena Road was one I never liked: single storey, stained weather-board, and open spaces inside. I felt ill-at-ease in it.  I was there only during occasional holidays, but the family was there from 1957 to 1967.  Gladys, again, held the family together: our father never moved, and died three years later in Darlinghurst; Jack Whittaker pottered around, gave up his pipe and tried all manner of things to ward off the intruding breezes till he died in 1964; Paul moved away to sea; Adele went to Adelaide to study midwifery in January 1965, Honor was ever faithful and in the background: who knows how important her support was to Gladys’s centrality.

In 1967, after managing for a few years on their own, Gladys and Honor called it quits at Elanora and bought a unit in Neutral Bay: Unit 8, Gladstone Court, 10 Lindsay Street. it was one of the nicer kind of units put up in an age of much rubbish.

At Easter in 1972 Gladys, Honor and I took a nostalgic trip to Condobolin.  We stayed in a motel, walked the town, visited Aunty Mag, the pisé house (occupied by Bill Oppy, son of Jack Whittaker’s sister Doll) and the cemetery, as well as spending time with Ted and Doll Oppy.  It was wonderful time for us.

In 1974 Gladys began to deteriorate.  She had been a strong woman and a powerful personality, and did not give way to the flesh.  The flesh itself began to give way: she had always suffered from headaches; she had a hernia operation in 1963; in 1964 she lost the sight of one eye because of a detached retina.

In 1974 she broke her hip and that was the beginning of the end: some time later in the Mater Misericordiae Hospital at Crow’s Nest, the onset of senility; into a Nursing Home at Cremorne; then a few years in the Loreto Nursing Home at Strathfield.  Honor visited her regularly and seemed to communicate with her; I could get no response.  On Adele’s one visit from Perth, after an hour of conversational chatter she said “I”ve got four children.  I’ve been a busy girl, haven’t I!” and Gladys responded “You certainly have”.  That is the last thing I know she said.

They were fitting words for Gladys.  She was not afraid of hard work – she enjoyed being busy and approved of others being busy: the notion of four children to be reared and educated and cultivated would have appealed to her.  And she was always wonderful in support.  It is no wonder that Adele’s statement elicited the approving words of this woman: “You certainly have”.

Gladys was a peacemaker and did much to heal the rifts in family relationships: she could keep in touch with Uncle Bill when his marriage may not have been popular; she could support and encourage Stella’s children, the outsider Jack and the fondly-regarded Jacqueline; she could push Clarry into doing something for Von; she made contact again with Molly after a rift of many years; and she wished at the last to be buried with her beloved Frank.  Von and Jacqueline still glow when they talk of “Aunty Glad” – nobody else in the family elicits such a response.

So the valiant woman went peacefully after lunch one day, 20 July 1979, “in my ninetieth year” she would have said.  She was buried from the Sacred Heart Church, Darlinghurst, where she had faithfully worshipped for so many years, her lamp finally gone out in the night.  She had opened her mouth to wisdom; the law of clemency was on her tongue.  She had looked well to the paths of her house and had not eaten her bread idle.  Her children rose up and called her blessed and in his own way her husband probably priased her.  Many women have gathered together riches, but she surpassed them all: may she have the fruit of her hands, and may her works praise her in the gates.

 THE CANT FAMILY

A Lincolnshire Posy

The story of this branch of the Cant family in Australia is told by Pat Barden and Nell Pyle in “Thicker Than Water”.  At least they bring our ancestor Francis to Australia with his parents and brothers and sisters and their various spouses; but they lose track of him around the Dingo Creek area.  It is his second marriage to Bridget Horan that provides the connection between the Cants from Lincolnshire and the Cants of Goulburn.  The following is a brief summary of the account

that appears in “Thicker Than Water”.

Our Cant family came from the village of Great Gonerby in Lincolnshire, where they had been agricultural workers.  We are interested in William Cant who was born in Barkston, Lincolnshire, 16 September 1793.  His parents were Francis Cant and Elizabeth Green.  He married Susanna Curtis who was born in 1799; her parents were Geoffrey and Sarah Curtis.

William Cant and Susanna Curtis had eleven children, all Episcopalean.  All but two of the family, Frances an Geoffrey, came to Australia on the “Briton”, arriving in Sydney 26 June 1844.  Sarah, Susanna, William and Francis (who is our interest here) were already married before they made the journey.  The confused reader should consult Table 17 which will put our early Cants into perspective, and read the Barden and Pyle book which will fill in some of the details.

Francis Cant was born 14 August 1826 in Pickworth, Lincolnshire; he married Susan South who was born in 1821 in Hougham in the same county.  When they arrived in Sydney, Francis Cant, aged seventeen, and his wife Susan Bridget South, aged twenty-three, were engaged to serve J. Rickards, George Street, Sydney, as porter and cook and “otherwise make themselves generally useful”, for twelve months; to be paid 22 Pounds per annum.

Francis was so young that one wonders whether this was a marriage of convenience for the sake of the voyage, though later there were two children: Mary Ann born in Glen Innes 12 November 1850 and Susanna born 6 July 1852.  These children were kidnapped when Francis was in Queensland in long-since forgotten circumstances – family lore suggests kidnapping by an American couple, by Aborigines and by gypsies. Francis and some fellow workers tracked them       back over the border and found Mary Ann, but not Susanna.  Mary Ann married 11 April 1872 and died 5 February 1898.  One of her descendants has been in touch with Rita Neal, a Cant cousin who is researching Francis Cant’s family.

Susan South disappears from the scene and Francis Cant remarried: his second wife was Bridget Horan, an Irish lass of eighteen.  Born in Castletown, Tipperary, to Patrick and Mary Horan in 1840, and baptised as a Catholic, she left Ireland at the age of fourteen with an older sister, Catherine.  Their parents were dead, and the girls could have received no formal education, for they could neither read nor write – the common lot of the Irish peasantry of the time.  They arrived in Sydney on the “Switzerland”, 20 June 1854.  The eight pounds remittance seems to have been paid by a yet older sister, Ellen, who was in the service of Mr. Owen Boyle of the Harp of Erin Hotel, Goulburn.

Of Francis’s movements after he reached Sydney in 1844 little is known: a year, presumably with Mr. Rickards of George Street; then the birth of Mary Ann in 1850 on a property called Marooan near Glen Innes, where he was a groom; the birth of Susanna at Rocky River near Glen Innes in 1852 when  he was a gold digger; in 1856 his wife Susanna appears to have been a witness to his brother Abraham’s marriage to Catherine Martineau at Dingo Creek near Wingham on 23rd February. Between 1856 and 1858 Susan probably died and Francis has moved to the Monaro area; from there he moved to Goulburn where he met and married Bridget Horan who was working as a housemaid at The Harp of Erin.

The wedding took place, 15 July 1858,in the Catholic Church, and the ceremony was performed by Father Richard Walsh.  Francis was described as a bachelor and a labourer, Bridget as a spinster and domestic servant: no hint of a previous marriage or children.   Even on his death certificate these details are not mentioned.  This second marriage was unknown to Barden and Pyle, and so none of Francis Cant’s descendants from the second marriage are recorded, nor are there any details about the daughters of the first marriage, in their book.

Bridget Horan was the youngest of the six children of Patrick Horan and Mary Hickey, and was born 19 May 1840 at Corbally in the parish of Portrae, Killoran, Castletown, Tipperary.  Her eldest brother Martin was born in 1826 and remained a bachelor; Ellen, born in 1827, married William Tosney, but they had no children; Thomas was born in 1829 and married Alice Kennedy, who bore him nine children; James, born 1834, also remained a bachelor; and Catherine was born in 1838, married Denis Hall and had three children.

Francis was received into the Catholic Church, 11 August 1879, by the same Father Richard Walsh who married the couple.  I surmise that the strong faith that has appeared in this branch of the family was planted and nurtured by Bridget Horan: it is a miracle to me that the tenuous link of Catholicism in our family should be traceable to one young  Irish girl transplanted to an entirely foreign and alien environment.  It is more amazing when one considers that at his conversion, Francis was fifty three and his wife was much younger at thirty nine.  Her devotion with her nine children must have made a great impact on him.

The nine children were born during a period of twenty years: Sarah Ellen, 22 June 1859; Jeffrey James, 8 July 1861; Francis Patrick, 23 May 1863; Martin, 30 April 1865 (the only member of that line of the family I ever heard my grandmother, Lilian Gladys, refer to); William – our ancestor (Lilian Gladys’s father) – 14 June 1867; Mary – who became Mrs. Hunter and kept contact with her brother William – 6 October 1870; Bridget, 26 April 1873 – to die young at the age of thirteen – 18 December 1886; Thomas Joseph, 4 June 1875; and Gertrude Matilda, 4 June 1877.

Francis died 4 October 1890 at Addison Street Goulburn.  Bridget died in Goulburn, 7 January 1916.  It is their fifth child, William, who concerns us in this story.

William Cant was born 14 June 1867 at Sheet of Bark, Carcoar.  He was married in Goulburn, 7 December 1889 to Anne Wessler, in the Catholic Church.  His occupation was given as plumber with the railways and he stayed with the railways for the rest of his working life.  The witnessess were his brother Martin and his sister Mary.

Of Anne Wessler little is known: she was born about 1869 at Lambing Flat (now called Young); who her parents were remains a mystery, but she was adopted by John Henry Wessler and his wife Annie Walsh.  Search of microfiche records of birth, letters to the Catholic churches at Young and Goulburn and to The Goulburn Post have all produced nothing.  Present Wessler descendants know nothing about her.  The one surviving photograph of her shows a striking dark-featured woman with her hair drawn severely back, and dark, piercing eyes – I can see my grandmother, her daughter, in her.  The only personal comment I have about her is that she was “a more refined woman than Nana Cant” (i.e. Sarah Grieves, William Cant’s second wife).  In fact it was only in the last few years of her life that my grandmother told us her mother had been adopted: prior to that we had taken for granted that she was the daughter of John and Ann Wessler.  On William Cant’s death certificate she is simply referred to, under “first marriage”, as “unknown Welby”, which name was attested to by his son Clarence Cant years later.

Anne died 1 October 1895 at Morundah near Narrandera, aged twenty six, of puerperal peritonitis, leaving three children: Lilian Gladys aged five, Francis John Henry aged four, and Kathleen Stella aged two.  It is little wonder that our grandmother did not say much about her.  What was said more by way of implication from the comments she made about her stepmother, Sarah Grieves. Anne Cant was the mother Gladys never had.

It was in the Cathedral of Saints Peter and Paul, Goulburn, that William Cant married Sarah Grieves, 20 June 1896.  She was not a Catholic.  On reflection, I find it surprising that William Cant married anyone so apparently different to Anne Cant as Sarah Grieves.

Sarah Grieves was born 25 May 1870 at Tallarook in Victoria, her parents being John Grieves, a farmer of Benalla, and Sarah Young.  William met her when he was moving around the southern parts of New South Wales with the railways in various capacities, as plumber, fettler and ganger: she was managing an inn or hotel in Jerilderie.  Their children were: William,  born in Cootamundra, 29 May 1897; Clarence born in Jerilderie, 29 May 1901; and Mildred (Molly) also born in Jerilderie, 14 November 1904.

From her pictures, Sarah Grieves, always referred to in later years as Grannie Cant or Nana Cant, was a formidable woman.  Family lore has some interesting views of her, but it depends on who tells the story.  Gladys, my grandmother, leaves the conventional picture of a stepmother: a hard woman with not a lot of warmth for the children of the first marriage.  One story from Gladys may serve as an illustration and be judged for what it is worth.  Gladys learnt the piano as a youngsterand was preparing for public examinations; the fees for the examination were not sent until too late to catch the mail-train, so Gladys was denied the chance which was later given to Molly who received the cap and gown for piano studies.

It is said no record could ever be found of the marriage between William and Sarah, but there is certainly a record of it in the microfiche marriage records for 1896.  The general impression of the woman is of toughness and I suspect that much of this impression stems from the stories of those who for one reason or another saw only that side of her; stories from other folk suggest a much warmer, more caring woman, particularly in later years.

Some vignettes, part of the overall picture: she had some wealthy relatives called Caition [pron. Keyshun], two spinsters who lived with their brother on a cattle station in Dalby, Queensland.  When they visited the Granville home of the Cants, the family used the good dining room which was out of bounds to ordinary folk – much like Mrs. Joe Gargery in Great Expectations.  There was also the inclusion, “de rigeur”, of Darnley among the family Christian names; though Clarence Clyde Darnley, Sarah’s second son, is the only one I am aware of who received it.

An unfortunate remark of Sarah’s created an unnecessary rift.  She is supposed to have said of William Augustine’s wife, Dorothy (nee Lutton) that “she would never get pregnant”, probably because the couple had been married four years before their first child was born.  The remark cut and Dorothy would not tell her parents-in-law when the event did occur.  Fortunately the story ends happily as the breach was healed in later years.

A supposed lack of attention to William’s education caused hurt.  He himself passed off this neglect by saying his mother had six children to bring up and “didn’t do a bad job”, which is probably as close to the truth as we will ever get.  William was christened a Catholic but was never confirmed and though Sarah herself was not a Catholic, there was a strong Catholic atmosphere in the family, and all the children, save William, made Catholic marriages and families.  Circumstances of time and place around the turn of the century made it difficult to do everything by the family; and so William went only to Third Grade, according to his daughter Gwen – though an extant postcard from his sister Gladys to “Will” dated 8 November 1909, when he was about twelve, asks “How are you getting on at school?”

Perhaps the most lasting aggrievements concerned Sarah Cant’s youngest daughter, Molly: they obviously hurt in their time and rankled for years later, but time heals all wounds and all was finally forgiven.  More of this in its place.

Granny Cant must have been a tough woman in the eyes of some people, but that did not stop the home in Granville, where the family moved from Yass, from being a gathering point for the family for many years.

Just when the move to Granville occurred is forgotten now. Gladys had left home in 1908 and married in 1910, Frank was away from the family soon after; and it was time for Clarence to become an apprentice, which he did at the Railway Engineering Workshops at Clyde after spending six months on a milk run because he was under age for apprenticeship when the family moved to Sydney.  So I put the time of their move at the end of 1914.  They were certainly there when Frank died at Easter in 1915.

They moved into a home at 12 Brady Street.  Sarah, as good with money as her husband William was hopeless, bought two houses in the area, one in Daniel Street and one in Elizabeth Street: there is an entry in Sands 1917 Directory for W.Cant, Daniel Street, Granville.  The Cant stronghold at Granville remained a family focus for twenty-five years.  Later, when they married, Clarence moved into a home in Smythe Street, and Molly into a home in Woodville Road, both in the Granville-Merrylands area.

Gwen (Cant) Briggs recalls William and Sarah as “loving grandparents” and regrets not seeing more of them.  The house was always spotless and the beautiful white sheets and starched pillow-shams are still a strong memory for Gwen forty years later.  Von (Cant) Fitt recalls Granny Cant’s devotion to setting up a little home altar every Friday ready for the priest to come and give Grandfather Cant Holy Communion.  Doug bicycled out to visit them from Darlinghurst.

The picture is improving.

Von’s recollection is that though Granny Cant was not a Catholic she did a good job in bringing up all the children in the faith of their father.  Grandfather Cant himself was a pillar of the local church at Granville and belonged to the Hibernian Society in its heyday.  In a letter from Dorothy Cant (née Lutton) I was surprised to see a reference to a fragment of photograph of Grandfather Cant with his “lodge apron”.  I thought “Mason”, until Von explained he would “wear his green and gold fringed collar” to the Hibernian Society’s monthly Mass “with pride”.  It was when he could no longer go to the Church that he received Holy Communion at home.

Grandfather Cant went blind in later life, with glaucoma.  Von’s mother, Stella Cant (née Turner) took him to the Sydney Eye Hospital where his condition was diagnosed.  Gwen remembers how she and her sister Heather used to lead him around the yard at Brady Street.  A second cousin, Rita Neal, remembers on one occasion visiting the Granville home and walking Grandfather Cant from Brady Street to Smythe Street.  On approaching the house, the blind man indicated: “We’re nearly there; one more house”, or some such.  “How do you know?” Rita said.  “From the dip in the footpath”, he replied.  On a similar visit one of Rita’s sisters, Molly, recalls meeting Honor who, somewhat older, gave her a lipstick tube which delighted her.  Honor was our mother.

Years later the Smythe Street house of Clarence Cant and his family was still an enjoyable visit for my family.

Because William was on the railways in various capacities, the family moved around a great deal.  Having been born in Carcoar, he was to marry in Goulburn.  There were moves to Jerilderie and Cootamundra, a settling for some time in Yass between 1908 and 1914 and a final move to Granville.  William must have remained close to some of his brothers and sisters, especially Martin and Mary (who became Mrs. John Hunter) who were witnesses to William’s first marriage.  There are a number of postcards from Aunt Mary, a homely woman between the the lines.  Martin was often talked about by Gladys and my mother.  Gwen says she remembers him when she was a small girl.  Von says he would visit them at Smythe Street and her father used to take them to visit him at Ryde.  He made Von a wooden puppet which danced.  She remembers him as a jovial man with a waxed moustache, somewhat taller than Grandfather Cant and rather better off.  Jacqueline remembers being taken to Ryde on the tram by Gladys to visit relatives.  Rita Neal says Martin, her grandfather, was no wood-carver and never lived at Ryde.  The Ryde people were actually the Hall sons, butchers:  William and Martin’s oldest sister, Sarah Ellen, had married James Hall.  My own very unclear memories before the age of five are of Ryde and an orchard and Uncle Martin, but there is nothing coherent or reliable about the recollection.

William died 11 December 1940 at the age of 74, in St.Joseph’s Hospital, Auburn, having suffered from glaucoma, lobar pneumonia and chronic myocarditis.  He was buried at Rookwood by Rev. Father Peter Smith.  His son Clarence had his birthplace as Cowra rather than Carcoar.  He claimed very strongly that William’s first wife Anne was surnamed Welby.  That remains a mystery.

Sarah Cant died a couple of years later, 21 June 1942.

So we turn to William Cant’s children.

His first child, by Anne Wessler, was Lilian Gladys, our grandmother, born 9 December 1889 at Lithgow Street, Goulburn.  Her mother was twenty one, her father twenty two, and they were married just two days previously, 7 December 1889.  (What sort of romance lies behind those dates?  Who was Anne Wessler, that exotic looking woman, possibly part aboriginal, and what charm she must have held for the good Catholic boy!)  The story of Gladys as she was known and as she signed herself, will be told later.

Their second child was Francis John Henry named for his paternal and maternal grandfathers – born 18 July 1892, died 18 April 1915.  Von says “he must have been much loved. How sad for us that we never knew him”.  He was much loved and admired, talked about by all the family, from both marriages. My grandmother expressed a wish later in life that she be buried in the same grave: we took that            as a statement of her affection for him, a velleity.

There are a few touching reminders of Frank; two letters, a composed photograph, some First Communion mementoes, a photograph of his grave and a memorial card.  So much is said in that photograph.  It  depicts a chubby-faced lad of maybe fifteen, not yet marked by adolescence, with the coat, collar and tie and hat of a man painted in.  The family were caught by surprise at this death; there was no recent photograph of him.  After his untimely death at twenty three they constructed a suitable memory in this picture.

There is a postcard.  It is marked Binalong and dated 4 January 1910: “Dear Mother, Just a few lines to let you know you can send my food to Binalong on Thursday as we will be shifting to Frampton on Friday if we a(re) finished at Emu Flat.  F. Cant”.

His letter, from Razorback, Gunning, was written March 1915, a month before he died: “Dear Parents, Just a few lines hoping to find you all well as it leaves me at Present.  Enclosed please find postal note for one Pound.  Mrs Smith gave it to me and told me to send it to you I am sending the pony today hope you get him alright please write and let me know if you get the money and the horse all right.  I am sending a wire also I think I will be going down for Easter I ordered the truck three weeks ago but I could not get it  until today We have been doing nothing up here for the last week through having no ammunation [sic] but we made a start again.  It is terrible hot and dry up here now. Well as knews [sic] is scarce I will now draw to a close.  I remain your affectly.  F. Cant.  Post Office, Gunning”.

He did indeed “go down” to his family at Granville where he fell ill.  The illness was diagnosed by the family doctor in Granville, Doctor Sheldon, as appendicitis.  Frank died.  The family believed it was dengue fever contracted through drinking stagnant water.  His death certificate says: Francis John Henry Cant, labourer, died of Typhoid Fever after an illness of ten days.  Mother’s name: Annie Wessler; born, Goulburn; not married.  “How Frank’s death must have affected all their lives”, Von says.  I wonder whether Gladys came to the funeral – she was living in Condobolin at the time, with two small children.  The stroy is a tragic one, especially since the young man was so beloved.

His grave at Rookwood was adorned with a fine tombstone inscribed “In loving memory of our dear son Francis J. H. Cant”, and has two little statues of Jesus and Mary.  There is, too, a memorial card with a verse:

Do not ask us If we miss him:

There is such a vacant place,

Can we e’er forget his footsteps

And his dear familiar face.

Time has passed and still we miss him,

Words would fail or love to tell;

But in heaven we hope to meet him.

Jesus doeth all things well.

When It is a dearly loved one of your own, the quality of the verse becomes irrelevant beside the expression of grief.

There are also Frank’s First Communion certificate and a holy picture of the Good Shepherd, signed “With every good wish. For Frank.  From Sr.  M. Vincent”.  I do not know much about the children’s education, but from this card and a later reference in a card to Stella from Gladys, it is reasonable to assume it was convent school education.

The certificate is inscribed: Frank Cant received the first Holy Communion in Jerilderie on the lst day of June in the year 1905 and was confirmed on 11th March 1906.  Signed P.P. McAlroy pp.

I wonder what Frank’s job was and why he was not at the war.  Whatever the answers and whatever his qualities, he certainly left a life-long impression on his family, particularly our grandmother.

The third child of William and Anne Cant was Kathleen Stella, who came to be known as Stella, born 21 June 1893, at Mundy Street, Goulburn.  She was a strong featured woman.  It is obvious from a series of extant postcards that she loved good clothes, parties and male attention.  Surviving postcards to her from an ardent admirer, one Gus Brown, indicate a passionate attachment.  Some photos of her as a young woman show one very conscious of her feminine power and attractiveness.  One brief encounter with Charles Murray left her with a son, John Cant, born 16th December 1909.  Her sister Gladys’s postcards to her at this time hint nothing of the affair.

Jack Cant’s story is a troubled one.  His aunt Gladys took some responsibility for him when he was growing up, but I do not want to leave the impression of either neglect on one side or of extraordinary devotion on the other.  He was an occasional visitor to our house In Boundary Street and the response to my insistent question “Who is Uncle Jack?”, was “Oh he’s your mother’s cousin, dear”, which was true enough and as close as I got to the facts till 1964 when even his step-sister, Jacqueline, still did not know.  Jack married and had two daughters, but his wife left him; and for a number of years he was looked after by a good woman I knew only as Aunty Dot.  The last I saw of him was at his mother’s funeral in 1973.

A month or so before Jacqueline died , 8 August 1989, I went to visit her in St Vincent’s Hospital.  At the same time she was being visited by Judy Brown, daughter of the above Gus.  I was quite taken aback at meeting Judy, for I seemed to be looking my mother in the face!  Jacqueline later explained – with a twinkle in her eye – “Judy and I have been sisters for years”, the implication being that Judy was the daughter of Gus Brown and Stella Cant (my mother’s aunt.)

Stella married Archibald John Sivyer, born at Swan Reach, Maitland, 16 February 1884, in Bimbi, 24 May 1919.  John Sivyer belonged to the Mounted Police, and made a very handsome figure astride his horse.  He was also and avid gambler which was eventually to cost him more than his wages.  They had one child, Jacqueline, who was born at Grenfell, 26 May 1923.  Very soon afterwards the family moved to 12 Glenview Street, Paddington, where Jacqueline lived till she died, having married, raised her children, and seen them married from the same house.

When I first became aware of Stella in the late 1940s, she was running a guest house in Merriwa Street, Katoomba, with the help of Bob McConnell.  I spent a number of wonderful holidays at Merriwa House; and though Bob could be difficult with the drink on odd occasions, I was made much of and given much freedom and many privileges.  Sometimes my grandmother, Gladys, would accompany me: she was very fond of Stella.

In the 1950s Stella and Bob moved to Northaven.  Jack Sivyer stayed quietly out of all this, living at Glenview Street; he eventually died in Maitland Hospital, 31 May 1957.  Bob remained with Stella and eventually changed his name to Sivyer.  They moved back to Sydney living in Duxford Street, Paddington, where Stella died quite suddenly and peacefully, sitting in her chair, 3 May 1973.  Bob nowmoved into Glenview Street with Jacqueline.

Jacqueline says of her upbringing: “I got all the affection”, and I know how my grandmother doted on her; there was no one quite like Jacqueline.  In later years the cousins Jacqueline and Honor could discuss this dispassionately, for there had been times when Honor was understandably chagrined that her mother could lavish affection elsewhere so readily, yet hold back the show of affection to her own children.  Gladys was nothing less than devoted to many, many people, but it must be said that her own children, especially Honor, who could acknowledge it more as she got older, had reason to feel they were overlooked more than was fair.  It is the only serious criticism one could make of Gladys.

In 1946 Jacqueline married Charles Raymond Thomas, not without someprompting from Stella to make a decision between two pressing suitors.  Raymond, as he is always called, was born 11 May 1924; the marriage took place 19 October 1946.  There were two children: Warren Raymond, born 19 May 1948, and Jeanette Frances, born 16 September 1952.  Warren was educated at the Marist Brothers’ High School Darlinghurst, and Jeanette at St. Vincent’s College, Potts Point.

Warren married Susan McPherson 1 June 1968.  There are five children: Darren Craig, 18 January 1969; Shane Andrew, 9 January 1971; Kylie Marie 24 May 1972; Alison Louise, 1 November 1979; and Michelle Therese, 6 October 1983. Warren has maintained the strong faith that characterises his parents and the Cants; and Susan became a Catholic about the time of Michelle’s birth.

Jeanette married Norman McDonald in January 1984 and there are two children: Daniel Charles and Nadine Elizabeth.

We now turn to the children of William Cant’s marriage to Sarah Grieves.

The first of their children was William Augustine James, born 29 May 1897 in Cootamundra.  Little is known of his childhood but a picture of him at the age of three shows a lovely child with blond curly hair and clear blue eyes.  The family appears to have been settled in Jerilderie at this time, even though William senior may have been moving about with his job on the railways, for the next two children were born there.

William’s education may have been somewhat haphazard: moving from place to place, lack of attention, who knows. He did go to school, as Gladys’s postcard attests: “How are you getting on at school?” she writes in 1909.  She asks in another card “How is your arm?” The arm is a real cause of concern, if the extant postcards are any indication.  The time is December 1908; Will’s arm had been broken and badly set, so that it had to be re-broken and re-set.  The result was that he was never able to touch his shoulder with  that hand.  When he came to join the army in 1918 at the age of twenty one – his parents would not give their consent any earlier – he found himself, at the medical check-up, in a queue heading towards a doctor unsympathetic to would-be soldiers with any physical disability. He promptly changed queues for a more sympathetic medico and was passed into the army only to get as far as South Africa when the Armistice was declared.

In 1926, 8 July, Bill married Dorothy Lutton.  She had been boarding at the Cant household in Brady Street, Granville.  They moved immediately to the recently founded Kandos cement works, he as head gardner, a job he held for thirty nine years until he retired in 1965.  The gardens were a picture and he worked hard at them, even going so far as to obtain his greenkeeper’s certificate.

Service to the community was a feature of Bill and Dot Cant.  During the Depression, for example, Bill used to pay the grocery bill for the Huntley family, his father’s sister’s Mary’s family, and give away substantial quantities of vegetables to others.  Dorothy, Dot or Dorrie, was a founding member of the local C.W.A. and served the community in a number of ways.  She was a noted speaker and a splendid singer: she had taken singing lessons at the local Good Samaritan convent in Kandos – a Spanish-style building, still to this day one of the feature buildings of the town – in 1929 and 1930.  She sang at weddings for no charge and performed regularly at variety concerts.

She and Bill, after his retirement, moved to Woy Woy where they died, he in November 1972 and she in 1979.

Bill had been christened a Catholic but, as distinct from his brother and sisters, did not retain the Catholic faith.  Dot was a staunch Methodist, indeed a pillar of of the local Methodist community; and in my earlier years I detected a touch of coolness over this religion business.  Dot was, however, a very warm, generous and gentle woman – her daughter’s recollections and her several letters to me are more than sufficient proof.  When I went to visit her daughter Gwen in November 1985 both of us went church in Kandos on Sunday, to the Catholic Mass and to Gwen’s Uniting

Church service where I played the harmonium, continuing in some little way Dorothy’s tradition of music and community service.

Whether it was religion or something else that was behind the hints of dissension that occasionally ran through the family is not clear, but whatever it was, the breaches were healed in time and by time.  Gladys must take some credit as peacemaker, though apparently the rift between her and Molly took longer to heal.  Bill and Dot Cant did their share to keep good relations with Molly and with Stella (Turner) Cant, Clarence’s wife.  As Von remarked “Aunty Dorrie and UncleBill were wonderful to Mum”.

There were two children: Gwennyth Dorothy was born 29 May 1930, and Heather Myrtle 3 February 1936.  Gwen married Clement Douglas Briggs.  They live at Ilford, where Clem runs a farm of 1600 acres with Hereford cows and Merino sheep.  They have two children: Garry John born 8 October 1954, and Lynelle Jan, 23 June 1957.  Lynelle was (1985) private secretary to Senator Don Grimes.  Gwen carries on in her mother’s footsteps as devoted C.W.A. identity and a member of the local Uniting Church.

Heather at an early age was discovered to be retarded in her developing.  She was able to stay in the family until the onset of adolescence, when the little rages brought on by the indiscretions of other children and the dawning realisation that she would never have a normal social life made it difficult to manage her at home.  She spent a long time in a government institution at Stockton where she received a sound and appropriate education.  There is in Heather a latent charm and talent; she seems to have musical potential.  As a child she used to sit on the office steps at the cement works and entertain the arriving staff with “piano” renditions of the classics which she would sing with some accuracy.  “One Fine Day”, from Madame Butterfly, was one of her favourites and she would sing, appropriately enough, “at office meeting” instead of Puccini’s words “at our first meeting”.

After a change in government policy she was moved from Stockton to Morriset with less than happy results.  She was for some time now at Leura in the Blue Mountains where Gwen can see her regularly: it is a good place and a pleasant little community.  She has since moved to Dubbo/Mudgee??

Clarence Clyde Darnley Cant was born at Jerilderie 29 May 1901.  Clarry was a hard man.  He was a staunch, probably stubborn, Catholic, to such an extent that he would not marry Stella Turner until she converted: it is to her credit that she remained faithful to the change.  They married in 1929.  Stella always looked well scrubbed and Clarry obviously kept a tight rein on the family.  He made it hard for his beautiful daughter Yvonne, the Von who has provided much of the reminiscence in this chapter, to blossom in her natural way: “Aunty Glad” even had to encourage her brother to have a twenty-first birthday for the girl.  Gladys also got Von her first job at Payne’s in Bathurst House.  Nonetheless we always enjoyed our visits to Clarry’s house at Smythe Street, Merrylands, as well as their visits to us in Boundary Street when we had to keep watch for their arrival from the tram so we could rush back home to alert Gran to put the scones in the oven.  Gladys always cooked scones, and we delighted in avoiding the two magpies – one of which was vicious, the other being cowardy custard.

Clarence was a foreman at the Clyde Engineering Works, and a tough one.  His niece Maureen’s future husband, Frank Ingram, applied to Clarry for a job and was given short shrift; though later they became the best of friends.

Yvonne was born 22 May 1932 – May was a popular month for Cant births!  She was later to marry Wilfred (Bill) Fitt, 23 November 1957.  There were two children: Louise, born 6 May 1959; and Rebecca, born 24 May 1964.  Von’s life has not been exactly easy. For one so beautiful    to have suffered so much is hard to understand, but she has an inner quality which allows her to cope – a strong characteristic of the Cants.  In the late ‘Eighties Von chose to leave her husband and live with Ian Hore.  They moved to Port Macquarie and later to Queensland: she gained a long overdue measure of happiness.  The move was made at some cost, in view of her strict beliefs, but her genuine needs won over her rigid belief.

Clarence junior was born 14 January 1934.  He married June Sheehy and there are two children: Jacqueline born 31 November 1963, and Mark born 23 September 1966.  June died some years ago of cancer and Clarry has remarried.  “Boy”, as Clarry was called to distinguish him from his father, was an unassuming man, but a great mimic under that quiet front.

The last Cant child was Mildred Mary, whom everyone called Molly. She was born at Jerilderie, 14 November 1904.  If Molly was the apple of her mother’s eye, then some of the family saw her as a poke in their eyes.  There is no doubt that she was the favoured one. Gladys left home three or four years after Molly was born, and while she visited the family from time to time, she was probably not very close them at that stage.

There were postcards aplenty, and in November 1909 she is saying to Will: “Tell Molly and Clarrie to write to me”.  But there appears to have occurred a long gap in Gladys’s contact with Molly then or at some later date.  In 1960 when our family was driving to the Blue Mountains, Gladys announced unexpectedly as they were passing through Glenbrook: “I have a sister who lives here – let’s see if we can find her”.  There and then they turned about and searched out Molly, and received a very warm welcome, establishing a contact that was to last until the sisters died years later.  Molly’s family was.stunned at the revelation of a sister after what must have been years of no contact.

There was always a touch of asperity in the voices when relatives spoke of Molly, mainly because she seems to have given when others were denied.  But it is to the credit of all concerned that the hurts were healed as attitudes mellowed and people got older.  Molly was given the best of educations: she was trained as a nurse and as a tailoress, and she gained her cap and gown in piano studies.

Towards the end of the 1920s she met Bertrand Henry Louis Jordan, Uncle Bert, and here the stories abound.  One night on her way home from Granville Station, Molly was stabbed in the arm: general rumour laid the blame at Bert’s jealous door; but whatever the truth, he and she ran away and got married very soon after.  The date was 16 November 1929. They must have stayed at the Brady Street house because it is said that the annual Christmas gathering at the Cant household soon stopped, Molly having stated categorically she wasn’t “going to cook for all that lot”.  Soon afterwards she and Bert moved to Woodville Road.

Things did not go easily in that marriage.  Bert soon contracted tuberculosis and had to spend time at Bodington near Wentworth Falls.  He never fully recovered and when he and Molly moved to the Blue Mountains, to Glenbrook, they had to lead separate lives.  Molly went to work and Maureen, their daughter, went to boarding school in Goulburn.  Von sums it up when she says, “I think Aunty Molly had a sad life.  The loss of both her children, and Uncle Bert had T.B. for many years.  She worked hard for many years at the Goodyear Tyre Co., in Granville – all during the war years, and she had to put Maureen in boarding school.  She must have had a lot of tenacity and courage.  Aunty Glad was much more generous in her thinking towards her than my parents were, and Aunty Dorrie always kept in touch with her”.  In later years, when Molly was going back and forth to the Royal Women’s Hospital at Paddington, she and Jacqueline developed strong ties.

There were two children: Maureen Annette, born 30 September 1934; and Noel William. born 28tMarch 1937.  Noel died at the age of four at Bill Cant’s house at Kandos either from meningitis or a germ in the bowel.  Maureen married Frank Ingram (born 2 August 1926) at Glenbrook, 24 November 1962.  Adele was her bridesmaid: the recently healed breach resulted in more frequent visits and a close friendship between the two sisters’ families.  Maureen and Frank had two children; Clare Mary, born 2 December 1966; and Anne Eileen, born 4 December 1970.  Maureen sadly predeceased her mother, dying of cancer 11 January 1983.  Molly died eighteen months later from the same cause, 5 July 1984, eighteen years after her husband, Bert, who died 23 April 1966.

I am struck by the quality of the Cant grand-daughters: Honor (born 1910), Jacqueline (1923), Gwen (1930), Yvonne (1932), Maureen (1934) and Heather (1936).  These women had genuine beauty, external and especially internal.  They had a highly developed spirituality, a devotion to God, a sense of steadfastness,  loyalty and courage which is impressive.  Each of them had some real suffering – in marriage. in health, in relationships – but they came through as whole people, their faith strengthened.  They have all been devoted to their Church; but they were model Christians before they were churchgoers.  If the author’s stance in this chapter has been one of admiration for the Catholicism of these people, it has not been to the detriment of another religious persuasion; rather it has been an admiration of true devotion to their commitment whatever the persuasion, and of the living out of that commitment in their treatment of others – certainly not approval of stubborn religious adherence which resulted in personal insensitivity.

Who knows where these qualities have come from.  It would be romantic to say these are specifically Cant traits.  But I do have a strong sense of respect for Bridget Horan, the young Irish girl who left her homeland at the age of fourteen, married a man some fourteen years her senior, a man who had two children already – although it is unlikely Bridget knew of them – and was probably responsible by her good life for his conversion to the Catholic faith at the age of fifty three.  This strong religious faith, passed through to the present generation and allied to a hard headed practical approach to life lived in the service of others, seems to be a feature of this branch of the Cant family.

THE WHITTAKER FAMILY

The Back Creek Push

In 1986 I wrote: “Of all the grandparents’ branches of the family I know least about the Whittaker ancestry.”

 At the end of 2008 I have been able to offer a good deal more concerning the earliest of the Whittakers in Australia as well as more information on the family of Grace Peter whose daughter, Elizabeth Stephens married John Whittaker.  These were the parents of John James Whittaker, my grandfather.  I have added two articles about these people: “Getting the Whittakers into Australia” and “More About Grace Peter”. 

JOHN JAMES WHITTAKER – my grandfather, Jack, Pop Whit – was a colourful enough old character but not a man I could claim I was fond of, or even knew well.  He kept to himself as far as I was concerned and was eccentric in some ways – I once told him he was on fire, the conflagration having started in his pocket, the result, he explained, of friction between a box of matches and a piece of copper wire; but maybe it had been lingering there for some time from his old pipe, the reluctant smouldering of which never seemed to take fire, except perhaps this once.  The only time I can recall him bestirring himself was to wallop me for calling my sister something ungallant like “you bloody bitch”.  That has often amused me as I think of him with the teams of horses he so dearly loved and whom he worked with from the age of twelve: he could not have been so polite with them.

He was old when I first became aware of him in the mid-’Forties, and he was in his         late sixties. He once encouraged me to eat a raw onion he had dug up in the garden at 41 Boundary Street on an occasion when we were visiting from Stanmore or Kensington.  Needless to say I suffered a very bad night.

Later on our family moved to 41 Boundary Street,Darlinghurst: he stayed on in the front room which was an old man’s delight as only an old bushman could make it (though there was undoubtedly real quality in his family, obvious in the pictures of himself and especially his sisters – they were very fine looking young people).  Eventually he moved to 43 Boundary Street where his wife, Gladys, had moved some time before; and the front room was redecorated as a lounge room – but I was away from home by then.

Pop Whit, or Grampy as we sometimes called him, never seemed to have an ordinary job.  I knew him as a man who carried a vacuum cleaner about on his back and did cleaning jobs in various places around Paddington; he was an odd job man, and I do recall it being said that even at his age he could still charm the women of Paddington who seemed to have lavished bread and butter and tea and affection on him – a teeny touch of malice in the telling!  He had a garage further up Boundary Street,    just below Bid and Anne McNulty’s place, years earlier, but it was burnt down, some say under peculiar circumstances, but I know nothing of that.

Otherwise he spent his early years with a team of horses carting timber and wool.  On his death certificate he is described as a carrier.  There are pictures of Pop with his team in Condobolin; I recall hearing talk of the old days out at Bogan Gate and Parkes, incidents where horses would not cross haunted bridges after dark and having to go home the long way round, how held been sent out on the teams at the age of twelve.  I suspect that life was tough for John James as a youngster, though the three photographs I have of him up to his marriage show a fine looking man always smartly, not to say elegantly, dressed.

His father, John, seems to have been a handsome man: the picture of him on his memorial card is of a good-looking man, rather like Ned Kelly, with piercing eyes and a strong black beard.  His wife, Elizabeth Stephens, looks to be a strong woman, tough, not much truck with sentimentality but I suspect with more than touch of wit.  My mother recalls her with affection and a “Scottish burr”, and Mum’s brother, Doug, said that she always made them welcome.  Where the “Scottish burr” came from I don’t know: there was no Scottish in her immediate ancestry.

The marriage between John Whittaker (snr) and Elizabeth Stephens, about which I know nothing, for I never heard Pop or Gladys (who told us many things) or even Mum or Doug, say anything about them, produced eight children, of whom more later.

John Whittaker, John James’s father, was born, according to his baptismal certificate, in Gosford N.S.W., 4 October 1848.  His baptismwas registered in the parish of St. Andrew’s in the county of Cumberland – St. Andrew’s Church of England Cathedral in Sydney.  His father’s name was given as Peter Whittaker and his mother’s name as Margaret – maiden name not recorded.  Apart from their “abode”, Druitt Street, and his profession, sawyer, I know nothing about them, at this stage not being able to find anything in microfiche or shipping records.  I can only assume that Peter Whittaker worked at Gosford ordinarily, in the timber business, and for some reason came to Sydney where the youngster was christened.  They are the only ancestors for I cannot find anything about their countries of origin.  (See “Getting the Whittakers into Australia”)

We move from John’s birth to his marriage knowing nothing at this stage of his family, whether he had brothers or sisters or not.  In 1878 John Whittaker married Elizabeth Stephens: they were wedded in St. John’s Anglican Church, Young, 14 March, in the presence of F.D. Peter and Barbara Peter.  She signed with her mark.  His normal place of residence was given as Back Creek, Cowra, and his occupation as sawyer.  I presume he was a bachelor, but the word “Young”appears by mistake on the conjugal status column.  She was described as spinster, living at Cowra.  Certificates, unfortunately, cannot be fully trusted

Elizabeth Stephens was born at Back Creek (Bendigo) Amherst, Victoria, 13 September 1859.  Her father’s name is given as Henry James Stephens, his occupation miner, his age 22, his birthplace London.  Her mother’s name Is given as Grace Peter, she was 19, and was born in Sydney, N.S.W. There was one other child, unnamed.  This marriage took place in the Presbyterian Manse, Sandhurst 8 October 1858.  Henery (as he signs himself) James Stephen (there is no “s”) was 21 years of age, which makes his birth year 1837; he was born in Stepney, London, and his parents were Henry James Stephen, a sailor, and Euphemia Miller. He was a sawyer.  His wife, Grace Peter, a spinster, was born in Sydney In 1839 – there is no record of her in the microfiche index.  Her parents were Finlay Peter, a blacksmith, and Elizabeth Bruce.  (See “More About Grace Peter”)  The celebrant was James Nish and the witnesses were Fred, John Fleming and Elizabeth Peter, probably Grace’s sister.  “Henery” is a gentle, benign, nice-looking man, with a good head of hair parted in the middle, and a rich beard; Grace, on the other hand, looks rigid, puritanical, tight mouthed and stern about the eyes.  I have photos of them which I took at Easter in 1972 from portraits in the possession of Ted and Doll Oppy (Doll is our John Whittaker’s sister): they were touched up photographs, for I have a photograph of Grace Peter in the same dress, looking even more grim.

The marriage between John Whittaker and Elizabeth Stephens was indeed a fruitful one.  There were eight children of whom John James, my grandfather, was the eldest.  He was born 14 July 1878 at Back Creek near Cowra, his father then being twenty-five and a farmer, his mother nineteen.  John James, for all that he was on the teams at twelve, was an attractive looking lad: a picture at fifteen or sixteen shows a full front face, more than pleasant, his hat perched jauntily on the back of his head, one hand on his hip, the other over  bale of straw, and one leg casually crossed.  In his twenties there is another picture taken with his sister Phoebe and some friends: he is a very handsome man, smartly dressed, with a fine trim moustache.  Phoebe is a beautiful, composed woman.  By the time John came to marry in 1910 at the age of thirty-one, the looks had matured and there is a touch of the know-it-all cocked eyebrow about him: still smartly dressed (did Gladys make his waistcoat?  I know she did do such things; her needlework was beautiful) with the smartly dressed small woman standing as he sits, both looking straight at the camera.  I wonder whether they ever looked into each other’s eyes after their courtship: when I knew them they were both going their own ways and never really seemed  to communicate – two strangers in one house.  The wedding photograph is hand painted, pasted onto glass and set against a painted background.  The whole was beautifully framed in an oval frame. It is a rare example of such work, and was broken in being unnecessarily reframed. It has been reproduced.

Albert was the second child, born 9 May 1880 and married to Margaret Murray, born 25 December 1883.  Their children were Val (born 5 February 1905), Ellen (20 October 1908), Leonard (26 January 1912), Ivy (19 June 1917), Ronald (13 October 1919) and Pearl (25 February 1925).

I knew Albert – whom we called Uncle Ab – when we were in Darlinghurst in the late ‘Forties and early ‘Fifties.  I enjoyed his visits.  He must have lived in Sydney while his wife still lived in Condobolin.  He loved dancing and would talk all night about the dances he went to at Burwood.  He and Pop Whit must have been close because they talked for hours about the old days and old friends – Mrs. McNulty and Mrs. Oppy and Mrs. Gus Brown – and such stories have gone from my memory now (except the haunted bridge – to hear them talk you’d think they were on first name terms with Fisher’s Ghost!) but I recall sitting totally absorbed in them, both the old days and the dancing parties with women whose names danced over my head.

In my same Easter visit to Condobolin with Mum and Gladys, á la récherche du temps perdu, we visited Aunty Mag and her still single daughter, Pearl, who worked at the Condobolin Hospital.  They gave me much of this material.  Wealso visited the pisé (rammed earth) house which, I think, Granny Smith (Elizabeth Stephens – she married again after her husband John died) used to live – I believe the then occupants were Whittaker relatives, but we did not know them. We also visited the cemetery, to see Granny Smith’s grave.  Ted Oppy, a dear gentleman, drove us around.

Uncle Ab died 24 August 1958, and Aunty Mag 7 June 1982.

Then there was William, born 1882.  He married Anne Haddon (b.1892).  All I can say about Bill is that he looked like a barbarian with terrible eyes, a big moustache and a full lower lip.  My attitude to him is not improved by knowing that his fragile and beautiful wife, Anne, ended her days in Callan Park Asylum, 1 June 1926, driven there, according to Gladys, by her husband.  They had one child, Ernest, who died at the age of twenty-five.  In fairness to Bill I must say that an extant postcard from him to Anne is expressed in very beautiful terms.

The first daughter, Phoebe (Tot), was born in 1887 and died on 24 August 1966.  From her photographs she appears as a lovely, self contained woman who grew into a mature wife and mother, devoted – if the photograph gives any truth away – to her husband Edward Langford, to whom she bore five children: Myrtle, Boyd, Margery, Edna and Michael.

Ernest George was born in 1890 and died at the age of two.

Frederick Herbert was born 8 June 1895, and died unmarried 7 September 1953; a shy lad, from his picture, but he could only have been about fourteen, and who wasn’t shy then?  He had the makings of his brother John’s good looks, and was already as tall as Bill.

Ellen Margaret, (Nell), was born in October 1900, and died in 1937.  She married George Wheatley.  Attractive and bright in her teens, she seems to have grown plain later on.  I do not know that there were any children.

Aunty Doll rejoiced at her birth in the noble names Grace Bertha Anthea, but probably never used them afterwards.  She was born 2 January 1902, and was a powerful beauty when she married the equally handsome Edmund Oppy, 13 January 1922.  They had five children: Terrence (born. ll July 1920), Ronald (26 November 1922), Mavis (17 November 1926), William (16 February 1928.  According to Betty Lovejoy – November 1990 – he was living in the pisé house in Condobolin when we visited in 1972.  He died in 1989), and Betty (3 June 1930) whom I sometimes hear from.  Ted died soon after our Easter visit – the same year as the Duke of Windsor, I remember, for my mother was fond of both of them and was in England when Ted died.

These are the children, then, of John Whittaker and Elizabeth Stephens.  They were a remarkably attractive lot of people, the men handsome, the women beautiful – they certainly were not to be dismissed merely as “bush people”.  There was a distinct  quality about them, but where it came from I don’t know. My mother often spoke very warmly about Granny Smith having a certain genteel quality.  What more is there to be said?  John died in Callan Park Asylum for the Insane, 9 July 1910, at the age of 61.  The carrier was finally himself carried off by phthisis pulmonalis, a progressive wasting disease of the lungs, probably tuberculosis.  But why Callan Park?   Who were his parents?  So little is known about these impressive people with such beautiful children.  At least John James was present at the Church of England cemetery three days later to witness the burial.

It was after more than a decent interval that Elizabeth (Stephens) Whittaker remarried in 1919.  She married a very dapper man, remembered by Doug as wearing leggings – “you could see him coming from the end of the street” – William (Billy) Smith, and so became for my mother and Doug “Granny Smith”; they recalled her with great affection as a “real lady”.  She lived on in Condobolin till she died of senility, 20 June 1946, at the grand old age of 87.  I wonder whether I met her as a very young child, because I do have the merest hint of a memory of being in Condobolin in the early ‘Forties, of being caught in a dust-storm, in fact: I am sure to have been presented to the old lady.  She was buried in the Church of England Cemetery, Condobolin.  William Smith outlived her.

When and where John James Whittaker met Lillian Gladys Cant I do not know, but it was a case of the handsome man meeting the comely young woman – I don’t think we would call Gladys beautiful, but she was lovely – he was thirty-one, she twenty.  I wonder what attracted this man – a bushman in some sense, obviously intelligent, able to estimate the number of superfeet of timber in a tree at a glance – to the young lady schoolteacher, undoubtedly displaying then the impeccable care she always showed in whatever she did.  I have an exercise book which she wrote her lessons in during 1908 and 1909, inscribed “Gladys Cant, Subsidised School, Rosemead, Sth. Yalgogrin, via Narranderah”.  The writing is exquisite and stylish:   it changed little over the years, simply becoming mature and no less legible.

They were certainly very different people, differing in upbringing and different in temperament.  Ultimately she proved to be the stronger of the two – though later in his life he once set upon her, only to be confronted by my sister: he promptly fell to the ground calling on Gladys to witness the mayhem visited upon him by “girlie”, “split the wind”, as he sometimes called her.  He in his turn grew into a jealous man, but that never seemed to stop Gladys doing what she had to for the family.

It was at St. Augustine’s Catholic Church, Yass, that they were married, 16 February 1910, she just three months pregnant.  John James, the farmer, of Condobolin, a bachelor, born Cowra, aged thirty-one; and Lilian Gladys Cant, residing with her parents – though her mother Anne had been dead fifteen years, and it was Sarah Grieves who took the mother’s place, not very happily according to Gladys in later years – at Yass Junction, a spinster, born Goulburn, aged twenty.

They must have moved to Condobolin at once because their daughter, Honor Delores, my mother, was born there 16 July 1910.  Douglas John, their only son, was born a few years later, 8 March 1912, “at the foot of Billygoat Hill, Cowra, according to Doug.  I wonder why only two children, in that age of prolific families.

Life for the children must have been enjoyable – both Honor and Doug remember it as a happy time.  The family lived in a tent for a while, several miles out of town; work must have been hard, conditions unpredictable – a runaway horse doing much damage, bleeding and bandages, and Gladys coping in her memorable way.  (She undoubtedly displayed more patience than I did back in Condobolin sixty years later when she, being her independent self, fell in the motel room, cracking her head – more bleeding and bandages).  There were stories of a camel with a ferocious bite, learning to load the dray with the help of the horses – the much loved “Prince” among them.  There were picnics: a lovely picture of the boy Doug and the charming school teacher Miss McNamara with her parasol, sitting on a log near the water hole – it might have been Illyria rather than a boggy creek near Condobolin; and rock salt and molasses parties that so delighted my mother’s memories.

Jack Whittaker continued working on the teams, as family photographs indicate, with help from Mr. Vandertack; and Gladys – everyone always called her Gladys, although my mother sometimes called her “Lilly Pilly” – opened a boarding house, Myra Cottage (was it in Denison Street?) which gather, was a cause of some jealousy on Jack’s part.  Gladys was a good business woman and I’d be surprised if she stood for much nonsense from anybody – she had a strong moral streak as well, so Jack need not have feared.

Condobolin was no place for young people to find a career, so in 1926, Gladys bundled up Honor and Douglas and travelled to Sydney leaving Jack to follow.  Mum says that much of the good stuff – china, glassware, linen – acquired and packed away for transportation to Sydney never arrived: she hinted that Jack may have disposed of it otherwise.

Honor went to Business College where she did very well, and Doug went to school at the Christian Brothers’ school at Sacred Heart, Darlinghurst.  They lived in Gosbell Street Paddington, and Honor found employment soon after at Bray and Holliday’s as a switchboard operator, a job she kept with a ten year or so break, till 1960.

Gladys, the business woman, bought and managed properties and went to work.  She was mainly employed as a cleaner, but she also worked at the Pickwick Club where she made hors d’oeuvres, working late, late into the night.  Her employers, including such names as Pankhurst and McGillvray and the A.N.Z. Bank in Bathurst Street, treated her with the utmost respect: in some ways she was their moral superior though she worked for them, and they treated her accordingly.  They got more than a fair day’s work for their day’s pay out of her.

What Jack did during these years I do not know.  There was, as I have said, a garage which failed.  Then I think it was odd jobs for the next twenty five years.

When the family moved from Boundary Street, Darlinghurst to Cooleena Road, Elanora Heights, in 1956, old John James was on his last legs which he needed to keep wrapped in sugar bags and carpet pieces to ward off draughts.  When that failed he barricaded his bedroom against the breezes, which eventually won the battle as they always do, and he died – having thrown away his much puffed and never-alight pipe some years previously – after a short spell of a few weeks in the Sacred Heart Hospice, Darlinghurst, 6 November 1964.

According to his death certificate he died of congestive cardiac failure, atherosclerosis, and a recurrent urinary infection.  He was buried from the Sacred Heart Church – though I never knew him to go to any church, let alone a Catholic one – by Father Brian Charlton, in the Catholic Cemetery, Botany.

Proud Beauties

Two very striking people these: he prematurely bald and looking into the distance, she untimely dead at thirty~five but imperiously lovely; he the grandson of a London gunsmith, she the granddaughter of a convict-bushranger gunsmith.  Their wedding photos are separate affairs: their daughter Julia said he would not have their photo taken together lest she outshine him.  The two photos show them separately in their going-away outfits: lovely, proud people.

Edward William Alfred Butler was born at Jan Juc, on his father’s farm, into the practised hands of Nurse Grundy, 14 February 1864, and his birth was registered at Richmond with which his family had strong links.  Those early years must have paralleled those of his family: a few more years at Jan Juc, several more children, and a return to Melbourne in 1869 where we may presume he grew up along conventional lines in a home of many children, with a father who held a responsible public position in Richmond – and that ever present spectre of the nineteenth century, the death of children.  Edward William was presumably a member of a band, for there is a picture of him in a uniform, holding a piccolo; and his brother Frederick was, it seems, a kind of boy scout, a member of the Star of Richmond Juvenile Tent.  The children must have been given many educational opportunities in their growing up.

In 1886 Edward married Jessie Hilda Burke in Melbourne.  He was twenty-two years of age.  There was one son, Alexander Edward, named after his grandfather Butler, and he died a bachelor 29th January 1964.  There is a photo of him taken at his father’s funeral in 1928 but no more is known about him: my father never spoke of him, and my aunt mentioned him, to my surprise, only when I began asking about the family in 1971. (See 2008 article: Two Butler Men at War)  As for Jessie Hilda Burke I gather she was put away quietly because she did not quite please Edward William: I trust the story and my memory have not done the couple an injustice.

It was in 1893 that Alexander Edward senior moved to Sydney, apparently with his sons Edward, Hubert and Percy.  They stayed for a time at 13 Brisbane Street, which almost runs into Fitzroy Street.  They were later established with him in partnership as estate agents in Glenmore Road, Paddington, in 1896.  In 1897 Edward William set up as a house agent at 99 William Street and in that same year remarried.

On his marriage certificate he was described as a bachelor – not quite accurate!  The wedding took place at 65 Fitzroy Street, Surry Hills, the home of the bride’s parents, according to the rites of the Presbyterian Church, with George Preston as minister.  Witnesses were the groom’s brother, Percy Cedric, and the bride’s sister, Julia McLean.  It was 29th December 1897; he was thirty-three and she was

twenty-three.

Lilian Blanche McLean was a beautiful and dignified woman, as photos of her attest.  She was a good artist and several of her charcoal sketches of the female face survive.  There is also her bible, a much used book, inscribed with her name and address: Lily McLean, 65 Fitzroy Street, Surry Hills, N.S.W. 1892.  It is a great regret that we did not know this very beautiful woman, noted, said Ernest Broughton, M.L.A., for the “sweetness of her disposition and kindness of heart”, which “endeared her to all who had the privilege of her friendship”.

She was to die 20th February 1910, aged thirty-five, at Clanwilliam Street, Willoughby, of puerperal septicaemia, about twenty-five days after the birth of Percy Cedric.  She was buried in the Waverley Cemetery, attended by the Presbyterian minister, John Macaulay, who was to attend her mother-in-law, Eliza Butler, seven years later.

Their first child, Edward Malcolm, was born 18th October 1898 while the family was living at 99 William  Street.  Edward William’s son Alexander was, more than likely, living with his mother in Melbourne, for he appears in none of the photos associated with this second marriage.

Julia Blanche, named after her mother’s family, was born 18th December 1899, the family still being at 99 William Street.  The name Blanche is a curious coincidence insofar as it is a name strongly associated with the Butler branch of the family, though spelt Blanch (see Chapter 1.)

Edward William involved himself in civic affairs and while he never appears to be involved in Lawn Bowls as were his father and  brother Percy, he certainly took an interest in Australian Rules Football.

As an estate agent, especially in the William Street area, he must have been close to the affairs of the Municipal Council at the Sydney Town Hall.  No doubt much evidence of his involvement exists in various records around the city, but the following snippets may suffice to indicate his interest in local government affairs.

John L. Mullins writes, under the Sydney Municipal Council crest, 12 December 1900.

Dear Mr. Butler,

In one of the first intervals of leisure after the recent triumph in which you have taken so active a part I am only too pleased to make my special acknowledgements for your very great kindness to me. You were good enough to sign my requisition as chairman over meetings, to urge my candidature in generous language, to increase the number of my supporters materially and finally in the eventful 7th inst. to arouse the apathetic to a sense of their privilege and thus secure a victory.

I feel I owe everything to my friends whose confidence I hope to deserve by my share in the municipal proceedings of the next two years.

With every good wish for Christmas believe me faithfully yours.

John L. Mullins.

The other piece of interesting information comes from his obituary in The Sydney Morning Herald, Friday 10 August 1928, where we are told he stood as a Reform candidate in the City Council elections.  This information was corroborated by the receipt (7 MAy 1998) of a photocopy of the results of the Election of Aldermen for the City Council of Sydney 1 October 1924: Edward William Butler stood for Bligh against four other candidates.  He received 429 votes, far from enough to have him elected.  The City of Sydney Archives hold no other information about Edward William Butler

And while the letter from Ernest Broughton, M.L.A., may have been a conventional expression of condolences to a prominent city man, it seems to ring more true than that, suggesting a personal respect for the bereaved husband as well as personal knowledge of the deceased.  Edward William was obviously much involved in civic affairs and had become a Justice of the Peace in 1900.

Their next child, Sydney William, was born 5 March 1904.  By this time the estate agency was at 103 William Street on the north side between Crown and Palmer Streets.  It was to move several times before it was settled there eventually in about 1927.  The business was obviously carried on after Edward William’s death in 1928, as it is noted in the Sands Directories till the 1932-3 edition and in the Sydney Telephone Directory till November 1935.  The huge sign, dark blue on white, was still there in the 1950s, apparent to anyone travelling down William Street in those days.

During this time, the older children, Ted and Jule, probably began their schooling at Plunkett Street, Woolloomooloo.  Edward William himself was developing his interest in Australian Rules Football.  His obituary describes him as “one of the pioneers of the Australian code of football in Sydney from Richmond, Victoria, in 1892 till a few months ago”.  The obituary states that he was the founder of the East Sydney Club in 1903.

The 1905-1911 minutes book of the Sydney Football Club, now on display at the Australian Rules Football Club in Ebley Street, Bondi Junction, has a page of photographs of six prominent members of the executive of the time, including Messrs. L.A. Ballhausen, Albert E. Nash and Chesney Harte, who were described in C.C. Mullen’s History of Australian Rules Football 1858-1958, as “the founders of the game in N.S.W.” (p. 155).  Included amongst the six photos is “Mr. E.W. Butler, Hon Sec., East Sydney Football Club”.  Underneath the picture is the following statement:

When the time comes to write the history of how we won the national cause, the name of E.W. Butler will not be overlooked.  A native of Australia, he has naturally a strong love for his country.  His time and energies have always been on the side of “the flag with the six white stars”.  An ex-player, he knows all the points of the game, and as secretary to the East Sydney Club and delegate to the New South Wales Football League, he has put solid and lasting work on behalf of the national game.

The photos and accompanying texts were obviously cut out of some book or magazine and pasted in the minutes book.

Malcolm George, our father, was the next child born.  The date was 27 December 1907 and the address 99 William Street.

In 1909, Edward William is recorded at Albert Avenue, Chatswood.  While his wife’s death certificate in 1910 has her living at Clanwilliam Street, Willoughby, Sands continues to record E.W. at Albert Street until 1913, when there is a move to Womerah Avenue, Darlinghurst.  He is, of course, still working in the estate agency, back again, since 1907 at 99 William Street.

Percy Cedric, their last child, was born 25 January, 1910 probably at Clanwilliam Street.  One month later the distant, lovely beauty of Lilian Blanche faded from this world.  Her husband was forty-six years of age with five children to look after, the last being but one month old.

Lillian Blanche probably experience poor health in the last few years of her life.  There is a touching postcard addressed to her at “The Retreat”, Mittagong, undated, but written between 1906 and 1910.  It reads (in a reconstruction made by Ken Taylor) “Dear Mother, I received your two cards.  I am going to Bourke Street School.  I like it very much.  . . . and Teddie were up . . .  Sunday and they took me out to . . .  Grandma said I was a good girl.  With love to you and Siddnie.  Julia.”  Grandma is Julia McLean.  The writing is reasonably mature and may indicate that Julia was about nine or ten years of age, which would date the card to about 1909 or early 1910.  There is a touch of pathos in this simple communication.

It is not surprising that on 27 September 1911 Edward William remarried.  His new bride was Mary Elizabeth Gavin, a woman more conscious, it would appear from her photographs, of her loveliness, which was very Irish and very soft.

They were married by Father P. Piquet, S.M., at Saint Patrick’s, Church Hill.  Though Edward William had no allegiance to the Catholic faith, Mary Elizabeth remained staunchly Catholic till the day she died.  Her occupation was given as “booksower” (sic) and her age as forty.  She was born in Sydney in 1871 and her parents’ names as they appear on the original wedding certificate, now in my possession, were Patrick Francis Gavin, labourer, of Clare, Ireland, and Bridget Gaffney.  She was known to her friends as Mana.

She was the woman my family knew as grandmother, and she was responsible for bringing up the children of the second marriage.  Julia Blanche must have taken an instant dislike to her because she is soon off to live with her mother’s parents, Malcolm and Julia McLean at “The Mall”, 38 Maroubra Bay Road, Maroubra.  Later on the relationship between the two women improved.

When I knew Mana she was living with her brother, Bede, at 83 Womerah Avenue, Darlinghurst.  I always found her to be a lovely, warm, kind woman – my ideal of a grandmother.  She was of the genteel poor, I always thought, and the house was out of a different era.  In the musty old terrace house where Bede lived in an atmosphere of cigar smoke in the front room, I spent many happy hours of my childhood: her house was more peaceful than ours.  I was proud to “take” her to Mass on Sundays at Saint Canice’s Church, Elizabeth Bay, and would return to her place for the comics and a real Sunday dinner – roast lamb, mint sauce (properly made), baked potatoes and boiled peas (shelled by hand), followed by apple pie (homemade, with a thick crust).  The lounge room with its billiard table, which had been Uncle Ted’s (later donated to the Marist Brothers’ Juniorate at Mittagong) was a room of endless fascination for me: the photographs, the broken mantle-piece clock, drawers full of cue chalk and rubber stamps with the mysterious phrase ” not negotiable” (which no one could ever explain to me), a fine ewer and basin which my sister now has, and the silver tea service presented to E.W. Butler by the East Sydney Australian Rules Football Club, now in my brother’s possession.

Many years later, in June 1980, Cardinal Sir James Freeman was to describe her to me in conversation as “a very saintly woman”.

She died 25 May 1958.

Her brother, Bede Bartholomew, no relation of ours but fondly remembered, was born 6 February 1873.  He was taught at the Marist Brothers’ School at Haymarket, by Brother Casimir.  He joined the Royal Australian Naval Brigade as a Leading Seaman in March 1893, served with the Second Contingent N.S.W. Medical Corps in the Boer War from 17 January 1900 to 8 January 1901, and was discharged 3t March 1917.  He died in September 1957.

In 1913 there was a move to 86 Womerah Avenue, and the estate agency was still at 99 William Street.

The only fact I know about the next few years is that Edward William’s oldest boy, Ted, went to the War in 1916.  He was, in the general opinion, “the finest of the Butler boys”, an upstanding, fine build of a man, from his photographs.  There are a number of photos of Ted and the other Butler boys at their father’s funeral in 1928.  Ted is the most impressive looking one of them all.  One of the photographs shows Mary Elizabeth surrounded by the family, except for Julia who did not go to the funeral.  Julia told me once she had that photo touched up with Mana removed and herself substituted: that was one of the many photos that disappeared at her death.

Ted went to the First World War at the age of eighteen, much to his father’s regret, and Ted was “never the same again”.  I don’t know what that meant, but talk of Tedwas always tinged with regret and the note that his potential was never achieved.  According to the back of a postcard, “3771, Pte. Edward M. Butler, C Company, 9th Rem., 19th Batt., A.I.E.F., 5th Inf.  Brigade”, sailed off to “Egypt or elsewhere” 20 January 1916 on the Runic; “left wharf 8 a.m. left harbour 4 p.m.”  There are no photos of him in uniform, no memoirs of his service.  There are several other photos of him, some at his father’s funeral, when his address was given as Y.M.C.A., Melbourne.  He died a bachelor, 31 October 1938. (See 2008 article: Two Butler Men at War)

There are two little mementos: a postcard from Aunty Bree (though it is possible the card is for his father) and a book.  The card “A friend’s birthday Greeting”, reads “To Ted, With every good wish and Happiness on thy Birthday, from Bree”. (She was the wife of one of Mary Elizabeth’s brothers.)  The book,”The King’s Servant” by Hesba Stretton, the Religious Tract Society, London, was inscribed: To Edward M. Butler, from Grandma, Xmas 1910.  Which grandmother I do not know.

Edward William’s mother, Eliza, died, 7 September 1917, at Marrickville.  The funeral party left from 86 Womerah Avenue.

And so his life seems to have gone on, centering on his interest in real estate, civic affairs and Australian Rules until his death in 1928.  The estate agency moved several times: from 99 to 80 William Street between Riley and Crown Streets, and apart from a brief stay in 1930 at 102a William Street, it seems to have settled, in 1927, at 108 William Street, till 1935.

In 1927, the year before he died, the family moved to 83 Womerah Avenue.  The home passed into his son Sydney’s hands in 1929 and finally, in 1932, into Mary Elizabeth’s hands where it remained till she died in 1958.

Edward William’s death occurred 8 August 1928 at Saint Vincent’s Private Hospital, of myocarditis.  He was cremated at Rookwood attended by a Church of England minister, J. Paul Dryland.  His three marriages are detailed on his death certificate, and his six children, there being none from the third marriage.

Edward William Butler remains a shadowy figure.  There are only two personal comments about him that I can recall.  His niece, Viwa Frend, described him as “such a happy man, always laughing and jolly”.  His daughter described him as a proud man who was not willing to have his photograph taken with his second wife for fear she may outshine him.  I wonder about several things: he lent money to a friend to establish a tobacco importing company (the building still stands at the other end of the Cutler Footway from Saint Vincent’s Hospital) and lost the money.  His widow lived in what I thought were rather faded circumstances.  I am left with the impression of a distant, rather haughty man, one who was a stranger to his children.  In my childhood when people spoke of him it was of a man above them.  I never heard my father talk about him, and my father’s way of parenting may have reflected a certain coldness or lack of affection in his own upbringing.  He was too young to remember his mother who died when he was three.

The following obituary appeared in The Sydney Morning Herald, Friday 10 August 1928:

The funeral of Mr. E. W. Butler whose death occurred in St. Vincent’s Private Hospital on Wednesday morning took place at the crematorium, Rookwood Cemetery, yesterday morning.  Mr. Butler was for 34 years engaged in business as an estate agent in William Street, City.  In 1924 he stood as a reform candidate in the city Council elections.  He also took a leading part in the Australian Natives’ Association.  Mr. Butler was one of the pioneers of the Australian Code of football in Sydney, his active connection with it lasting from the time he came to Sydney from Richmond, Victoria in 1892, till a few months ago.  The Rev. J. P. Dryland of St. John’s Rectory, Glebe, conducted the burial service.  The principal mourners were Mrs. Mary Elizabeth Butler (widow) and Messrs. S., E., M., P. and A. Butler (sons) and Miss J. Butler (daughter). others present included Mrs. J. E. West, M. E. West, M.P., H. S. Brown, G. H. Sanders, C. Miller, F. Hughes, D. F. Harrison, H. Mortimer*, D. Bennett, J. Bramble, W. F. Gibbons and M. Burke.  The Australian Rules Football League was represented by the following:- M. McWhinney, Jun., (Hon. Secretary), L. W. Percy (Hon. Treasurer) J. E. Phelan (past Hon.  Sec.) on behalf of the Australian National Football Council, H. Chesney Harte (past Secretary), H.W. Smith and J. F. McNeil (past presidents), W.C.R. Ward (North Shore club), T. J. Hayes (Hon. Secretary Eastern Suburbs Club), W. Knott (Western Suburbs Club), J. Cross (captain, East Sydney Club which the deceased founded in 1903), A. McWhinney Sen. (Hon.  Treasurer Eastern Suburbs Club) and S. Milton (vice-captain, Eastern Suburbs Club).  Wreaths were forwarded by the New South Wales Australian Rules Football League and the Eastern Suburbs and Newtown Clubs.

(*This name takes us back to the old Melbourne days of the Butlers.)

While Miss J. Butler was listed among the principal mourners, I am sure she told me she did not attend the funeral – she may have said the mourning gathering afterwards at 83 Womerah Avenue.  Julia Blanch, second daughter of Edward William and Lily Blanche McLean, was named for her mother’s mother, Julia McLean nee Dedicoat (actually, née Day, but that story is told elsewhere) and her mother’s sister Blanche.

Julia Blanche is responsible for much of the first-hand Butler and McLean material in this history.  She was a woman of real wit and charm, a born entertainer and a story-teller unmatched: she fancied she had the sixth sense, andcapitalised on it.  She it was who suspected the connection between the convict~bushranger Bill Day and her great- grandfather William Dedicoat.  Her suspicion proved true: they were the same man, and she would have revelled in the detective work which went into proving it.  But she died, alas, too late.  Let these lines stand as a tribute to the

dear lady, my favourite aunt (even though my only one.)

She was born in Sydney 18th December 1899 at 99 William Street where she lived till her mother died when Jule was ten years old.  She attended the Plunkett Street Public School for several years.  When her father re-married she went to live with her grandparents.  I recall she spoke of the Bourke Street Public School, so she proabbaly lived there with them while Grandfather McLean was still involved in the Cordial Factory in Fitzroy Street, Surrey Hills, before they moved to Maroubra.  She talked a lot more about her grandparents, but I listened too little and did not know what I know now.  They left their mark on her in many ways, particularly her    Scottish grandfather.  He was a religious man, a Presbyterian; his wife probably adopted his ways, for her own father described himself as a “Ranter”, her mother was baptised a Catholic, and her brother and sisters were christened by anyone who happened along.  Jule herself subscribed the Church of England, but never attended.  It was grandfather McLean who gave her the works of Shakespeare for her birthday: “18th December 1912, To Julia B. Butler on her 13th Birthday from Granpa”.  Jule has inked in a “d” making it “Grandpa”.  The Shakespeare hints at the actor in Jule: she had a fund of stories and poems and songs; she would play the piano – well, she could “vamp” – and she was a violinist in her younger days.  We used to love her story of “Old Mose and the Eggs”; in her retelling of Kipling,’s “Green Eyed Yellow Idol”, the floor was wet and slippery where she stood, and the vengeance of the little yellow god got me every time.  Then she would sing “The Owl and the Pussycat” and “P.C. Forty-Nine”.  If we were good she would vamp a little, then recite “The Cow Stood in the Meadow” letting fall a pack of cards for sound effects.

She had been, in the 1930s, a member of the Viking Club which organised dances, picnics and hikes: a splendid audience for her talents.  She was, too, a legal secretary and worked for Kenneth J. Tribe for many years.

On March 8 1952 she married Charles Thomas Blake at theWesley chapel in Sydney: my mother and sister attended the wedding which was a private affair and came as complete surprise to me.  Charles was a widow and she had loved him for many years since she had met him while working for the Pigment Company.  His daughters Adeline and Johanna and their husbands happily adopted Jule and loved her.  They took great care of her when Charles died, after just ten years of marriage, 20 March 1962.

Jule lived a full and happy life – she loved life and thought I should not be a Brother because I “loved life too much”.  She died 22 April 1982 and was cremated at the Woronora Crematorium, attended by Reverend P. Stavert of the Church of England

Sydney William, the third child, was born 5 March 1904, married Iris Roberts and died without any children, 14January 1958.  I may have met both Sydney and Percy once at 83 Womeral Avenue, but my recollection is not certain.

The last child, Percy Cedric, was born 25th January 1910.  His mother died about a month after his birth.  He married Mabel Tompkins and they had one child, Malcolm.  I had lunch with Malcolm in 1961, but have never seen him since.         His wife’s name was Judith and there was at least one child, Lisa.  I believe the marriage ended in divorce.

Percy died 19 August 1969.

Of the five children, Ted and Jule were the most impressive; the other boys were weak in many ways – “les derniers fils d’une race epuisée”, to quote DHLawrence’s harsh phrase from “Sons and Lovers”.

Our father, Malcolm George, was the fourth child of Edward William and Lily Butler.  He was born 27th December 1907 at 99 William Street.  He could not have really known his mother who died when he was just three years old.  His father soon married the woman who was to bring up his children.

Malcolm’s earliest years were spent in William Street and Clanalpine Street but in 1913 the family moved to 86 Womerah Avenue and Malcolm went to school at “Westbush” the State School on the corner of Liverpool Street and Womerah Avenue.  He went only as far as the Qualifying Certificate, which was gained in Sixth or Seventh Grade.

There is one known highlight of his youth: an award for bravery.  The Royal Shipwreck Relief and Humane Society of N.S.W., 8th January 1923, awarded a fine certificate inscribed with his name, to “Malcolm G. Butler aged 14 1/2 years for his bravery in saving the life of William Johnson from drowning in Rushcutters Bay, Sydney Harbor (sic) on the 18th July 1922″.

Malcolm George never spoke of his father to my knowledge which is why I assume Mr. Butler was a distant man.  And while Mary Elizabeth was a devoted step-mother, her own religious values certainly did not rub off onto the children.  This branch of the Butler family is not renowned for its devotion to religion.  Cardinal Sir James Freeman, who grew up in Womerah Avenue at the same time as my father, put it accurately if bluntly: “Little Mackie Butler had no religion”.

Mac, or Maxie, as he was commonly known was apprenticed as a French Polisher at Bray and Holliday’s (Show Case and Shop Front) Pty.  Ltd., of McLachlan Avenue, Ruchcutters Bay where he worked for most of his working life, with a few breaks till he was dismissed in the mid-’Fifties.

He lived a 83 Womerah Avenue with his mother and brothers after his father died in 1928, until he married Honor Whittaker in 1936.

That story is the final chapter in this history.

Having presented the history of all of my father’s ancestors, I now turn to my mother’s ancestors, beginning with her father’s forebears.

MARY KIRWIN

A Much-put-upon Woman

The information about Mary Kirwin comes mainly from the N.S.W. State Archives (Shipping Lists, Reel 2461), from the book “Old Convict Days”, by William Derecourt, from various birth and wedding certificates and from family lore.

According to the Shipping List, Mary Kirwin was fifteen years of age when she arrived, in the company of 243 orphan females and other immigrants, in Sydney, 29 June 1850, on the ship “Maria”.  She had been a farm servant in County Carlow, Ireland, and her parents, both deceased, were named Timothy and, I think, Martha.  Mary was “C. of R.”, i.e. Church of Rome, or Roman Catholic.  She could neither read or write; her health was good and no remarks were recorded for her.

According to that information, Mary Kirwin must have been born in about 1835.  And apart from that information, everything wlse in this chapter has been told in the previous chapter or can be found in “Old Convict Days”, the memoirs dictated by her husband, William Day, Derecourt or Dedicoat, in 1892.

I do not know what she did immediately on arrival but by March 1852 she was employed by Bartholomew and Ann Mahoney at the “Crispin Arms”, 112 Clarence Street, Sydney.  It was, according to Derecourt in “Old Convict Days” a “house of call for sailors and soldiers, and from first appearances rather a rough shop, although the landlady seemed a jovial hearty woman”.  Derecourt calls her Mrs. Marley in his book, but on Mary Kirwin’s marriage certificate and in a directory of the time the name is given as Mahony.

William Derecourt says Mary Kirwin – whom he never names – was a “good-looking” girl, and having eyed the girl during the meal, said to his companion: “That girl shall be my wife some day soon.  You keep an eye on her as I start for the diggings tomorrow morning, and this day month I shall be down again and marry her”.  She was “about sixteen years old”, and all of this was said “without [my] having spoken to her”.  Henry, Derecourt’s companion and the son of the proprietress, must have kept an eye on her for she was ready and waiting one month later, Thursday, 3rd April, 1852.  As we have seen in the previous chapter, the interval was greater than one month, more likely having been six or eight months.

Derecourt returned from the Turon, walking to Penrith, taking a coach to Sydney and staying for the rest of the day at the “Dog and Duck” in the Haymarket.  He proceeded up Brickfield Hill to King Street where at the confectioner’s shop he had a wedding cake made, “and a good one for three pounds”.  He made his way to Mrs. Marley’s Crispin Arms, “to my intended to whom be it remembered I had not yet spoken a dozen words”.

He entered “to their surprise” and in the presence of the girl’s mistress he said “Are you quite ready”?  “Without further hum or hah, she said Yes”.  Though she was “content and agreeable” to what he wanted, she wished to know about his religion,  as she was a Catholic.  “Oh”, he said, “you can be married in any church you like.  I’m sort of Protestant, or in truth a Ranter, but I’m not particular, and if we get married and have any family the boys shall be Protestants and you can bring the girls up in your own persuasion”.

They went next day to St. Mary’s Cathedral, but it being Lent the priest would not allow them to get married because “the rules of the church forbade it”.  So, nothing daunted, they went on the Saturday to Dean Cowper, a Church of England parson, who directed them to St. Philip’s, Church Hill.

There were the usual questions and “she must have the consent of her parents”.  “I told him they were in Ireland and how could I get their consent”.  There were further problems: “You’ll have to be called three times in church, and we can only call twice in one day”.  William was not greatly bothered by rules: “let us be called twice and I will give you five pounds for a licence”.

And so the “next evening, in the company of Mr. and Mrs. Marley, the master and mistress of the girl, I went to the church and after the service the ceremony was performed and we returned home to the Crispin Arms”.  That was Sunday, 6 April 1852.  Dean William Cowper, Church of England Chaplain, in the presence of “Batw Mahony and Ann Mahony her x mark”, at St. Philip’s, Sydney, married William Day, bachelor, and Mary Kirwin, spinster, both “of this parish”.

The Monday was spent at Ashton’s Circus, “the clown at which was an old acqaintance of mine”, says Day.  After the circus performance “my friend with his companions and instruments arrived, and the dancing, mirth and fun soon became fast and furious”.  Day was a generous man: he provided a bicker of she-oak (ale) for the bar customers, took precautions so that there would be no disputes over costs, and about 2 a.m. retired”.

Day was confident of himself, having made preparations for marriage before he got Mary Kirwin’s consent.  He said he was “determined to have a wife and at first sight took fancy to this one”.  Had he been refused he would have gone to the Registry Office and “the girls being assembled [I] would have declared myself in want of a wife, showing plenty of gold and notes”.  He never dreamt of failure; besides, he says, being “quite respectably togged out in my newly-purchased sailor’s garb, and with my expectations did [you] think for a moment I would be long without a wife?”

Day went off to Sofala a few days later and made arrangements for Mary Kirwin to come in a month or so.

The marriage could not have been an easy one for Mary Kirwin.  She gets scant mention in the book, and it is hard to know what kind of woman she was, since all the information is told from Day’s point of view.

On one occasion Mary complained to him: “It does not look well of you working in the company of an unmarried girl”, which he had been; so William responded to her implied request.  On another occasion he was digging away underground and his wife came to  the top of the shaft and called him.  Up he came, asked what she wanted, she “seemed like one bewildered, and stammering and stuttering had only time to say ‘I -’ when the whole ground under which I had been working sank bodily down, burying tools and everything I had below under hundreds of tons of dirt”.  When he asked Mary why she had called, she said she had “no particular object in going to the shaft and she knew not what possessed her to call me”.

Their first daughter, Mary Ann, was born 10th April 1853 and was christened 1 May 1853 by William J. K. Piddington, a Wesleyan minister on the Bathurst Circuit.         William’s profession is given as tinsmith – one of his many professions, he being gunsmith, lockmaker, carpenter, digger and jack of all trades.  She was later to marry, under the name of Derecourt, John Seach.

Their second daughter, Matilda or Mathilde (according to different certificates) was born 4th August 1854. She was christened a Roman Catholic by Fr. Kums in the parish of Sofala (the records are in the Catholic Church at Kandos.)  Her father’s occupation was given as digger.  She eventually married, as Derecourt, James Cross.

Day was a successful digger, making at this time thirty or forty pounds per night.  “Upon its being known that I was lucky”, he says, “some of my gossiping neighbours, getting on the vain side of my wife, persuaded her to employ a girl to help look after the two children and assist in the house affairs”.  He tried to dissuade her but, “as all the world may guess”, unsuccessfully – “the more I argued and remonstrated the more bent she became on accomplishing her desire”.

One can hardly blame the lass, mother of two children at the age of nineteen, living in the rough conditions of the gold fields.  She was uneducated and not greatly experienced, whereas husband William had learnt to fend for himself at a very early age, having wandered around the Birmingham area for some years, in and out of jobs and scrapes, until he was eventually transported for stealing a waistcoat.  Ten years in Van Diemen’s Land, a wide variety of experiences in the Adelaide area, plus a worldly wisdom, a physical strength of some note and an ability to handle men and situations which is awe-inspiring, all those things must have made him a formidable husband and more than a handful for Mary Kirwin.

Mary, nonetheless, got her servant girl and William got a lesson on the dangers of boasting.  He brought the servant back from Sydney by several stages and whiled away the time by a “good deal of blowing and gassing”.  Unfortunately “my wife wormed out of her quite innocently, all particulars of my proceedings in Sydney, and getting on the soft side of her, heard of all my boastings in the coach on our passage over the Blue Mountains”.  The results were inevitable: William, “merry as a cricket”, was in the midst of displaying to his wife a real “darling of a two pound bonnet”, when up she sprang “with the fury of a tiger cat, snatched the millinery from my hands, gathered up all the other presents and toys without a word and bundled them into the flames of the hearth”.  There was more, but suffice it to say that he soon got the message and he says “foolish boasting was ever to prove a thorn in my side”.

There were other children.

Julia, our great-grandmother, was born at Sofala in 1855, but I can find absolutely no record of her birth.  Place and year of her birth are derived from her death certificate and her brother Richard’s birth certificate.  She was to marry, also as Derecourt, Malcolm McLean.

Elizabeth, or Betsy, was born 3rd December 1857 at Ironbarks.  “William Day, 40, gunsmith, of Birmingham, and Mary Curwin, 34, of Dublin.  Previous issue: 4 children. Informant: William Day, father, Ironbarks”.  This certificate illustrates perfectly the unreliability of all the certificates associated with Day.  In 1857 he was  thirty-five (his age is uncertain, but the best approximation of the year of his birth is 1822 or 23.)  Mary was twenty-two, and there were only three other children: he seems to have included Betsy among the “previous issue”.  Betsy seems to be dead by 1864, as is shown in the previous chapter.

At this time, between 1857 and 1859, Mary Kirwin must have turned  to drink.  How serious the matter was is hard to gauge.  Day introduces his former manager on the Turon, one Robert  Wilson, who married a wife considerably younger than himself and could not control her.  It appears she and Mary Kirwin took to drinking together.  “After a time”, says Day, “I found my wife had been induced to join her in her cups; indeed on one occasion I found the two dancing on the floor ‘Jack the Lad’, to their own music and no dinner cooked.  Before the advent of Wilson’s wife my old woman was noted as a hard working woman, attentive to her household duties, and a kind and affectionate mother; but now these orgies were of a daily occurrence and how to mend matters puzzled me.  I got maddened to such a pitch at their increasing drunken fits that I was almost tempted to bundle both of them down a hole”.

His response was to go along with Wilson’s plan to hold up the Bathurst Mail, which they did 24th June 1859 (though who planned the escapade is open to conjecture.).

The long and the short of that little episode was that he ended up in the Bathurst Court, tried and convicted by Judge John Dickinson, and sentenced to seven years’ hard labour, in spite of the fact that “he had a wife [Mary was present in court] and four children and his wife was again near her confinement”. (From The Bathurst Free Press and Mining Journal, 24 September 1859).

Mary was delivered of her fifth child and first boy, Richard, 4 November 1859.  “Father: William Day, confine(d) at Cockatoo, 40 England. Mother: Mary Kirwin, 24, Dublin, Ireland. now of Ranken Street, Bathurst.  Married April 1851, Sydney N.S.W., four children, Mary Ann 6, Matilda 5, Julia 4, Elizabeth 2, none dead”.  And although Mary could sign only with x her mark I would say that she was a more careful informant than husband William.

Though he makes no mention of such deeds in his book, he is accused informally by Edward Montague Battye, Superintendent of the Western Mounted Patrol, in a letter dated Hartley 28 June (1859), of several other crimes.  “William Day”, he writes, “is known to me and I believe him to have been one concerned in the Mudgee Mail Robbery on two occasions – the highway robbery of W. Phillips in 1855 if not in the murder of Trooper Codrington in Wyagdon Hill”. (This letter is to be found in the N.S.W. State Archives Ref. 9/6424, among the Witnesses’ Depositions at a preliminary trial held at Hartley 30 June/l July 1859.  The same reference to Codrington’s murder appears in The Bathurst Free Press and Mining Journal, Wednesday, 20 June 1859, to be found in the Mitchell Library).  These accusations may or may not have any substance.  If they do, then Mary Day had married herself a very difficult man whose behaviour lends some excuse to her own.

What happened to Mary Kirwin and her five children while William was confined at Cockatoo?  References are scanty.  In his book, Day writes “After dinner I got my noble friend to write a letter to the kind friend who had taken charge of my children in my trouble, receiving in due time a favourable and most consolatory letter”.  Now we know that by 28 November 1859 the four girls had been sent to the Very Reverend Dean Grant for transfer to the Catholic Orphan School at Parramatta.  This action was to cost her the affection of her children who as they got older turned their backs on her – at least, Julia did, but I cannot speak for the others.

Later on, Day wrote a letter, stating the grounds of his petition, his good deeds, etc., to his wife from Cockatoo Island, penned on Frank Gardiner’s back as we have seen.  The story of how he made a brush from a “favourite cat’s” tail, how he made paint from red lead and his own blood, how the letter was was inscribed on Gardiner’s back “occupying from the shoulders to below the waist”, is equal to  anything that occurs in romantic literature.  However, Gardiner apparently delivered the message, as “I had a letter from my wife telling me that Gardiner had given her all the particulars, which should be attended to”.  It is reasonable to assume that he was able to get some message to Day’s wife by some means or other because she eventually petitions the Governor for his early releas.  The petition bears some fruit and he was released 21 December, 1865.

Nothing more is mentioned of his wife in the book.  He makes reference to “my daughter, then living at a Mr. Greninger’s near Braidwood”.  She was involved in one daring escapade in which the bushrangers Clarke saved her from the attentions of a one-eyed ruffianly member of their gang.  They were active around the mid 1860s.  Just which daughter this was, there is no way of telling, though it is almost certain that it was Mary Ann, the eldest.  Day, once he is off Cockatoo Island makes no reference to either his wife or children; he refers simply in a couple of episodes to “my daughter”.  The book fades away in unconnected memories.

What happened to Mary Kirwin?  I simply do not know any more at this stage than is conjectured in the previous chapter.  I summarise what I wrote in Chapter Five.  She may well have died and been buried as Derecourt in Sofala in October 871.  Someone of the name Derecourt was buried in Sofala in October 1871, and as the children are accounted for as above and as Bill Day had changed his name to Derecourt at this time, it is possible that the someone was his wife Mary.  The microfiche records of death have several other possibilities for Mary Day including “Mary Day died 1890 aged seventy-four, at Camperdown, widow”, and “Mary Day, 3rd February 1867, buried at Camperdown, born England, fifteen years in N.S.W.” 

There is the family story that on some unspecified occasion Mary Kirwin came to visit her daughter Julia in Sydney.  Julia would not believe that the woman was her mother, until Mary produced a prayer-book which appeared to serve as proof.  Even then Julia refused to have anything to do with the woman because of her apparent abandonment of them as children.

I had always assumed that Julia was married at the time, but if this visit had taken place when the girl was only about ten or twelve, ie, about 1867, then the Mary Day who died of Phthisis 3 February 1867 and buried at Camperdown Cemetery, could have been her mother.  This woman had been in the Colony for 15 years, though the death certificate indicates that she came from England and gives no indication of marriage or children.  If the girl had been about fifteen or sixteen, then the 1871 Derecourt burial in Sofala still could have been Mary Day.  On the other hand, if Julia was a married woman when the supposed visit occurred, then the Mary Day buried at Camperdown in 1890 could have been her mother, who being born in 1835, would have been 55.  I am inclined to believe that 1871 burial in Sofala was Mary Day’s under the name Derecourt; but that is by no means certain.

What happened to the children?  Elizabeth (Betsy) is assumed to be dead by 1864 (as shown in the previous chapter) and of Richard I know absolutely nothing.  Matilda married James Cross in 1874 about six weeks before her younger sister Julia married Malcolm McLean, both at the Elizabeth Street (Sydney) home of Rev.  Dr. James Fullerton according to the rites of the Presbyterian Church and the custom of the time.  I guess that they were close, as Julia was a witness to Matilda’s wedding.  Matilda was apprenticed at the age of thirteen (1867) to Mrs Cnnor of Shoalhaven.  It is reasonable to assume that the other two girls were similarly apaprenticed – Mary Anne to the Greningers and Julia to a family in Surry Hills where she later met the Cordial man, Malcolm McLean.  Of Matilda, however, nothing else – none of the descendants I have had any contact with knows anything of either Matilda’s descendants or of the later history of Richard.  Mary Ann married John Seach in All Saints Cathedral, Bathurst, 4th January 1879.  Mary Ann and Julia evidently kept some contact as I have a picture of them, probably taken in the late teens of this century as Malcolm McLean (d. 1920) is in the picture.

There is just that one scrap of family lore that says that Mary Kirwin was not well able to look after the children, so they spent some time in an orphanage, whence William would retrieve them from time to time.  The implication was that Mary was an inadequate mother and that William was “often away”.  The truth would appear to be slightly different.  No wonder the woman could not cope, having five children aged two to six when her husband was sent to Cockatoo island.  And if he was the rogue that is pictured in Battye’s letter, robber and murderer, it is less wonder.  The orphange story is true: the four girls certainly were placed in the Catholic Orphan School at Parramatta, which had been taken over in 1859 by the recently founded Sisters of the Good Samaritan, Sisters Magdalen, Gertrude and Agnes but nothing is known of how long they were there or how they were treated or where they moved to from there.  It is reasonable to assume that Mary Ann chose to return to Sofala, via Braidwood, and married at the age of twenty-six, and that Betsy died aged about six.  Matilda married at the age of twenty and her sister Julia married about two months later aged nineteen (1874).

Mary Kirwin: from Irish farm servant to wife of ex-convict, bushranger and accused murderer, and the mother of five children.  Mary Kirwin had it tough.  An emigrée from who knows what conditions of poverty to a harsh country, married in hope at seventeen, bearing five children in six years to a man who sounds, for all his self-proclaimed sensitivity, like a hard man and a chauvinist.  She is left high and dry when he is imprisoned on Cockatoo Island – four little girls aged six, five, four and two, and a baby yet to be born.  She is forced to send the girls to an orphange, costing her their affection and love, and maybe one of them her life.  She probably returned from her confinement with Richard in Bathurst to Sofala where she probably died in 1871.  She seems to have travelled to Sydney with her prayer book to find her daughters, only to be rejected.  From here we can only assume that her future was desolate and that her last few years were spent in misery and even rejection.  Her situation may even have been compounded by a worsening of the drunkenness which had begun some years into her marriage, increasing her sense of hopelessness and isolation.  It is not a happy story.  Was she a pretty Irish lass gone to ruin?  A photo of Julia, possibly taken on her wedding day in 1874 shows a pretty young woman, but a photo of her and her sister Mary Ann taken some time before 1920 shows two quite worn women.  Yet Julia’s daughter Lily, our grandmother, had real beauty. 

There is much conjecture in all this attempt to discover a real person behind the few facts, yet Mary Kirwin lives on in her descendants; and I, for one, regard her plight with sufficient sympathy to dedicate this history to her conjointly with Bridget Horan, whose story is still to be told.